


there's something right (being close to you)

by palateens



Series: Ace Off AUs [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Arguing, BPD Kent, Bad Parenting, Body Dysphoria, Borderline Personality Disorder, Coming Out, Demisexuality, Dissociation, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Food Issues, Gender Issues, Getting Together, Hangover, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Jack Zimmermann's Overdose, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Misgendering, Multi, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Dysfunctional Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Pregnancy, Psychological Trauma, Sexuality Crisis, Splitting, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Triggers, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Vomiting, Wet Dream, executive dsyfunction, non-graphic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-01-16 22:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 42,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12352029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens
Summary: Bitty clutches him tighter. “Where are we going, Mr. Zimmermann?” He hears Jack’s breath hitch. “Las Vegas,” he whispers like a curse.No one’s ever safe from trading, least of all Jack.





	1. 2 Yrs Late

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [be with the one that you love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088860) by [palateens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/pseuds/palateens). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whoever you think Kent Parson is,” Jeff says, “you should take another look.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will add additionally warnings for every chapter. If you're concerned check the end notes for more info on why I tagged "suicidal thoughts" and Jack's OD.

March 2019

 

Bad Bob once told them that you never know for sure when a trade is coming, but sometimes a gut feeling is right. Dread has been churning in Bitty’s stomach all week. He keeps telling himself that the Falconers pride Jack too much to trade him. Teams don’t just trade players on the short track to be captain.

Jack comes home early that day. Long before morning practice should be over. He runs a hand through his hair. Jack’s eyes don’t meet Bitty’s before he’s pulling them into a tight hug. Bitty’s chest constricts.

He mentally slaps himself. Uncle Wayne was traded twice. So was Jaromir, so was Joe Thornton. No one’s ever safe from trading, least of all Jack Zimmermann.

Bitty clutches him tighter. “Where are we going, Mr. Zimmermann?”

He hears Jack’s breath hitch. “Las Vegas,” he whispers like a curse.  

MooMaw always says God has the best sense of humor. Bitty bites his lip to keep from screaming. He tastes salt and iron, and the resentment that’s been boiling in his blood since he first met Kent, if he’s being honest.

Bitty kisses him like it’s the last thing they’ll ever do together, with desperation and anxiety swirling around a quiet resignation. He smoothes the wrinkles out of Jack’s Falconers t-shirt. He’s going to miss coordinating everything to match Jack’s eyes.

“Well, I better get started packing,” Bitty mumbles.

“My flight leaves at five.”

“They want you for tomorrow’s game, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jack says.

“They got someone to help you find a place?”

Jack nods. “It might take a week or two.”

“And until then, what? You crash on Parse’s couch?”

“They said one of the alternate captains has a spare room.”

“Alright,” Bitty grumbles. “I’ll see if the boys can come over this weekend and help me pack.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack insists.

“Which part?”

“Move.”

Bitty tsks, shaking his head. “Your contract isn’t up for another four years.”  

“We can wait until after the season.”

“I’m not going that long without seeing you.”

“But—”

“We’re a team, Jack,” Bitty says firmly. “You’re not doing this by yourself, ok?”

Jack chuckles sadly. “Ok.”

Bitty hugs him again, rubbing circles into his back. “C’mon, let’s eat lunch and then get you ready to go.”

They try to enjoy the afternoon together, lazily rifling through things Jack might need. They look up the cost of a moving company and hotels Bitty can stop at on the way to Vegas. Jack leaves at three, giving Bitty one last kiss at the door.

“Take care of yourself out there,” Bitty murmurs. “And call if you need anything. I meant it.”

“I will,” Jack promises. “Don’t worry.”

Bitty raises his brows. “Clearly you don’t know me, sir.”

They cling to each other for another minute before Jack says he should really go. Bitty kisses him once more, and then three times after that for good measure. He watches Jack disappear down the hallway. He walks to one of the front windows, waiting for Jack’s Uber to pull away. Jack looks up once before getting in, blowing a kiss to the window where he knows Bitty’s watching.

Jack can’t see him, but he catches it anyway. He stares down the street long after the car has left. He starts looking through every inch of the apartment, searching for things he can toss or donate.

It reminds him a bit of the summer before his Frog year at Samwell. Only it’s winter in Providence and he isn’t moving to some nebulous fairytale land. In fact, it’s quite the opposite—a barren wasteland where everything’s fake, which Jack narrowly escaped a decade before.

If hell is real it must be Vegas, Bitty thinks. He makes at least ten donation bags that day. He’s only half paying attention and might need someone else to look through them later (someone more calm and rational who can remind him that certain things deem holding onto).

Bitty has trouble falling asleep that night. He wonders how much more Kent Parson can take before he completely destroys their lives.

_/.\\_

Kellen tells Kent to stay a bit after practice. She tells Carter and Jeff they can stay if they want. So of course they dutifully follow Kent into her office.

“We found a suitable replacement for Park,” she says from her desk once they’ve sat down on couch.

Kent freezes. He thought they fixed the lines weeks ago. Parker kept putting off resigning until a week before preseason, when he announced his retirement. He was never cut out for hockey anyway.

He takes off his snapback, running a hand through his hair. “Ok I’ll bite, what’s with the formality?”

“We’re traded Jacobs, Palmer, and our fourth round draft pick for next year in return for—”   

There’s a knock on the door. It’s heavy, and the knuckles clearly drag. Kent pales. Kellen’s eyes go to the door. He sees Jeff and Carter turn. He won’t move. This is probably all a horrible dream that he’ll wake up from soon. It’s probably just another rotting corpse come to greet him. He’ll just make a note to talk to his therapist about it later.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Jeff murmurs.

“Zimmermann,” Kellen says. “Right on schedule.”

Kellen gestures to a chair next to the couch. Next to Kent. He clenches his jaw, trying to school his features as neutrally as possible. Jack sits. Kent looks past him at Kellen as if he isn’t there. But from the corner of his eye, he hasn’t seen Jack die or disintegrate or pull something shitty yet. Which means he’s really here. Which means someone finally thought to reunite the dynamic duo.

Fuck.

“These are your alternates and captain,” she says to Jack. “Carter Harris, Jeff Troy, and I’m sure you know Mr. Parson.”

“So formal,” Kent murmurs.

“You’ll be on Parson and Troy’s line tonight,” she explains. “If we need to make adjustments, we will tomorrow. For now, I’d like to see you two walk him through some plays.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jeff says as he claps Kent’s back.

Kent is nudged to stand up; he’s led down the hallway with some light pushing. Somehow, he ends up on the ice again, dribbling a puck.

“Kent,” Jeff says. “C’mon you got this.”

He feels the ghost of a kiss on his forehead. Something wet slides down his cheek. He’s not nineteen anymore, crumbling under the realization that Jack isn’t coming back. He looks up for the first time since they left Kellen’s office. Jack’s standing in front of him, looking nothing like the kid that made his wildest dreams and most vivid nightmares come true.  

His hair is shorter, his face is sharper and his muscles are more defined. This isn’t a ghost, or someone worth holding onto. Just another traded player looking like he’s ready to show Kent up. Well then, he’ll just have to remind this asshole why he always loses.

He clears his throat. “Jeff and I have awesome chemistry,” Kent says. “Let’s see how you fit into that.”

He doesn’t expect them to be anywhere near good after an hour of drills. But they feel passable for a game against the Jets.

Their line starts, which Kent thinks is a huge mistake. But then Jack wins the faceoff. He passes to Kent like a seamless reflex. Kent’s always been hyper aware of where Jack is at all times. It’s only gotten more acute over the years. Finding Jack went from a part of the game to a necessity. It morphed somewhere along the way to a neurotic fear. He’d like to think that at this point, it’s died down to something like a need to meet an adversary head on.

Only they aren’t adversaries anymore. Jack is more of a team player than he used to be. Jeff gets a hat trick. The three of them have a rhythm going. There a lot of no-look-one-timers. Kent forgot how easy it is to forget the bad stuff in the middle of a celly. His skin doesn’t burn off when he and Jack hug. His hold on Jeff lingers a bit longer for good measure, reminding himself where he is and when.

A reporter asks him how it feels to be playing with Jack again.

“Like riding a bike,” he says with a charming grin. “You never really forget.”

As soon as the reporters leave, he starts stripping. He swears he can hear Jack freaking out from across the room. He levels him a tired glare once his shirt is off.

“Anyone wanna compare dick sizes with me?” Kent chirps.

Johnny chuckles as Goose groans.

“Like I’d fall for that twice,” Wally says.

Kent gives Jack a huge fucking shrug and a humorless smile.

“If anyone wants to tell Zimmermann our zero tolerance policy on transphobia, go for it,” Kent says as he grabs his towel.

“Otherwise,” he says as levels Jack one last look. “Welcome to the Aceholes. We’re really fucking queer.”

He’s pretty sure he can hear Johnny laughing his ass off. Not that he cares. He showers in fucking peace because this is finally his team.

So of course Jack had to show up and take that away from him.

_/.\\_

“Tell me everything,” Bitty says when he stops in Denver for the night.

He’s leaning against old wallpaper, trying not to run his fingers down its pinstripes. Outside, the city glows, not much louder than Providence. He wishes Jack could’ve been traded somewhere like here. Somewhere not too different from the life he’s had since he left home at eighteen. Instead, he’s ten hours away from a new life in the sweltering dry heat of Las Vegas.

Bitty grates his teeth. He can’t stop picturing the sound of Parse kissing Jack back at that Epikegster. The thought that Parse would ever try that again makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

Jack chuckles over the phone, calming him a bit. “Where should I start?”

“Well you should probably start by telling me who I should avoid,” he mutters.

“You won’t like Wally,” Jack says.

“Wally?”

“Number 70.”

“Oh, the d-man who looks like he should be at a country club,” Bitty surmises.

“Yeah that’s him,” Jack says.

“So scale of one to ten, how much should I tone down my gayness?”

“Zero.”

Bitty thinks there must be something wrong with his hearing. “Come again?”

“They’re a good team Bits,” he says. “I—this team values their privacy.”

Bitty’s about to complain about Jack being cryptic when he remembers something Bob told him years ago.

He clears his throat, trying to swallow enough spit to settle his stomach. “Well then, who should I be making friends with?”

Jack chuckles. “You’ll meet them. They’re hard to miss.”

Bitty tsks. “So Vegas isn’t completely miserable?”

“Well,” Jack says. “It’s an adjustment.”

“Oh yeah?” Bitty barely holds back the urge to ask what Parse did this time.

“Johnson’s been great,” Jack says. “I missed him.”

“What about the rest of the team?”

The silence tells Bitty everything he needs to know. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I see,” Bitty says. “Well, I’m sure they’ll come around. I’ll be there soon enough anyhow.”

Jack snorts, like he’s trying to put on a brave front. “Thanks, Bits.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he says with the lightest tone he can muster. “You’re never alone, you got that?”

“I know,” Jack says. He sounds convinced, that’s enough for now.

When they get done talking, Bitty collapses against the king sized bed. The blanket is starchy and wrinkled, nothing like the quilts Mama and MooMaw send every fall. There’s no love or personality to the generic nature of a cookie-cutter hotel room. It reminds him of white picket fences and family picnics.

It reminds him of staring at the neighbors’ houses growing up and pining for a piece of that. A piece of quiet suburbia where everyone knows each other’s names and shares a cup of sugar along with the morning’s latest from the grapevine. The older he got, the more Bitty realized two unfortunate truths.

The suburban pie in the sky lifestyle doesn’t want him, and he doesn’t want it.

Some days, he’d give anything to be “normal”, to forget what it feels like to have eyes trailing after him almost anywhere he goes. He never wanted to have a family more than he did at eighteen when “one in four, maybe more” made anything feel possible. Like maybe he’d graduate with a degree in something high powered and a fiance, and in a year or two they’d settle down. And that would be it, for the rest of his life.

What no one told Bitty about relationships is that everyone lies. Everyone pretends relationships are easy or that they’re always in love around kids. They don’t want to scare kids off before love has a chance to sink its claws into them. No one talks about how often they can make each other cry (the bad kind as well as the good). No one talks about the tight smile Bitty has to give any time someone asks when’s the wedding. (He doesn’t know. He isn’t sure if and when he’ll be ready for that. Why why won’t anyone let him be twenty four.)

No one talks about what it feels like to wake up at three in the morning, nervously reaching for the body next to his to make sure it’s still breathing. No one talks about when a partner has a bad day or a rough month, and all he can do is nervously trail after him, hold him tightly, and beg that nothing happen.

No one talks about what it feels like to love someone so much it’s terrifying to think they’d almost never met.

Bitty doesn’t sleep much that night. He watches infomercials until he passes out from exhaustion. He doesn’t dream about finding an unconscious body in a bathroom in Montreal, because that was never part of his story. Instead, he dreams of a spilled bottle of pills on the floor of the Frogs’ shared bathroom. He dreams of cold lifeless body as Kent Parson grins triumphantly while leaning against the door in front of Bitty.

“I told you to give it a few seasons,” Kent says.

At six AM he wakes up to the sound of his own screams.

He hasn’t done that in a while.

_/.\\_

Kent tells his guys to hang back after practice. He waits until the last of the staff have gone back to their offices before he gets up to address them. The rookies and younger guys look wary at best. But Goose’s nodding expectantly, Johnny’s yawning, and Ozzy’s rifling through his bag like nothing’s of interest to him. They probably know where this is going.

“You guys gotta knock it off with Zimmermann,” Kent says. “You’re not even pretending to try.”

Jeff has the decency to blush. Perry frowns.

“Do you honestly blame us?” Ozzy says, not looking up from his phone.

“Oz, I’m asking, not lecturing,” Kent says.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he retorts.

Kent clicks his tongue. “Look, I know he and I don’t have the best history—”

“Understatement of the year,” Wally chirps.   

He glares. “Seriously just knock it off. Everything that happened was fucking years ago. He doesn’t deserve the third degree.”

“Like he would do the same if you were the one who got traded?” Ozzy asks.

“It doesn’t matter what he would do,” Kent says. “I’m the captain here, and this is supposed to be his _team_. We’re better than this, ok? So just, get off your high horses, and be there for him.”

Perry shakes their head, standing up. “We’ll invite him to things. We’ll play nice. He might even become our friend. But I will never forget, _entiendes_?”

The thing most people don’t realize about Perry is that they aren’t a pushover. It’s hard to get under their skin, sure. But the few people who have ever gotten on Perry’s shit list are unlikely to leave, Jack included. Kent grimaces. It’s the best he response he could hope for.

“Yeah, alright,” Kent says. “Thanks.”

Kent waits until everyone else is gone before he shouts over his shoulder. “They’re gone.”

He hears the distinct sound of a toilet stall unlocking. Jack comes wandering in not a minute later. His shoulders are sagging; they look as heavy as Kent’s chest feels. Kent stops himself from reaching out to hug Jack. He doesn’t owe him comfort; especially when Kent’s the last person he’d want to be comforted by.

Kent bites his lips together, staring at the floor.

“How’d you know?” Jack asks.

“I always know when you’re listening,” he answers simply.

Jack frowns, looking away like he wants to collapse into himself. Kent’s eyes flicker to meet his. He’d love to know what Jack sees. If the years have been kind or shitty (probably shitty) to Kent. What he thinks Kent’s eyes look like today. Maybe, if there’s anything like trust left between them. Kent isn’t so sure that’s even possible.

“Hey, not for nothing, but Ozzy will give you some shit and then he’ll probably like you, same with Wally. Carter’s slow to warm but he’s trying the most.”

“And everyone else?”

“They’ll come around,” Kent says. “Goose will be quiet. Perry might be awkward. But they’ll like you.”

Jack huffs. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because they’re good people, Jack,” Kent says quietly, yet firmly. “I didn’t spend fucking years making this the safest team in the NH-fucking-L just to make it stop the second you show up.”

“Right,” Jack murmurs. As if he’s forgotten how he almost ended up in Vegas the last time.

Kent breathes deeply, trying to think about rain in the desert. It’s beautiful, calming even. But too much isn’t sustainable. Even things that are good in theory are volatile in excess.

Like a lover coming home after years away. The entire landscape of what was once theirs has completely shifted. Nothing’s where it belongs, especially them.

He pats Jack’s shoulder gently, like he would with any of the guys.

“You’re not disposable. You’re a real fucking part of this team,” he says. “If anyone has a problem with that, you send ‘em to me alright?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s the same thing I’d say to anyone else,” Kent says a little louder. “Let your captain do his job.”

And because he doesn’t have any energy left in him, he quietly bids Jack goodbye.  

_/.\\_

It takes Bitty a week and a half to get their rental house the way he likes. There’s still a chance Jack could get traded back in a year or two. But in the meantime, they’ll have to make a home like a patchwork quilt—slowly, through scraps that don’t totally fit right at first.

The team has an optional skate, which apparently means a barbecue afterwards at one of the player’s homes. Jack parks in front of a white, adobe-style house.

“Who did you say lives here again?”

“Goose and Perry,” Jack says.

Bitty clenches his fists against the pie tin in his hands. It’s like walking into practice for the first time all over again. “Right.”

“You’ll like them,” Jack says as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “They’re good people.”

Bitty nods, not looking back as he opens the passenger door. He follows a few steps behind Jack. He expects Jack to ring the bell, but the door’s apparently unlocked, so he goes right in. It makes him wonder how good the security is in this neighborhood.

The house feels like another world. He’s never seen anywhere so heavily decorated by southwestern art and what looks like south Asian statues. There’s a swing in the front room. That’s certainly different.

“Zimms,” someone says from the kitchen.

“Haven’t heard that one in a while,” Bitty mutters.

Jack shrugs, as if to imply he had no control over that whatsoever.

The kitchen is spacious, to say the least. Someone’s grabbing drinks in the fridge.

“Help me with the beers,” they say.

Jack clears his throat. “I brought Bitty.”

The door slams shut. The person is definitely gay, by their eyeliner and extensive ear piercings. Their smile is soft, and makes them feel short despite being taller than Jack.

They offer Bitty a hand to shake. “I’m Perry, it’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Bitty says genuinely. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.”

“Has Zimms been talking us up?”

“I wouldn’t say—” Bitty says as Jack says “a little.”

Perry shakes his head. “Did y’all talk about who’s queer on the team?”

Bitty has to stop himself from protesting at the word queer.

“No we have not,” he says tightly.

Perry isn’t as oblivious as Parse, so he raises his eyebrows at Bitty. “I use they/them/theirs pronouns. That’s all you really need to know for now.”

“Well thank you for telling me,” Bitty tries to say charmingly. He then remembers the pie in his hands. “Oh, uh, this is for you.”

Perry’s easy smile returns. They take the pie. “I’ll give you a tour of the house if you’d like.”

“Oh,” Bitty says, pleasantly surprised. “That’d be great.”

“Let me put this outside first,” Perry says. “You should try the conchas, they’re fresh.”

Bitty has no idea what that means, but he’s trying to make a good first impression, so he nods enthusiastically.

“Jack! Bitty!” John Johnson shouts, clear as day.

He looks different than the last time Bitty saw him. Older, definitely, but his arms are littered in tattoos and his blue eyes shimmer with delight and humor in a way Bitty never noticed before. Johnson pulls them both into a tight hug.

“This is going to be so much fun,” Johnson says. “You’ll love it here, Bitty.”

Bitty chuckles at his optimism. “It’s good to see you too.”

“Johnny, let them go,” Parse says.

Bitty thinks that if he could go the rest of his life without hearing Parse speak ever again, it would be too soon. He ignores the way Kent and Johnson (Johnny?) chirp each other and follows Perry to the table next to the grill. Perry puts some sort of roll on a napkin and hands it to Bitty.

“There, try it,” Perry says reassuringly.

He bites into essentially a sweet roll with patterned sugar. It’s delicious, and apparently Perry made it. So maybe this is a good sign of things to come.

“I love it,” Bitty says.

“Thanks,” Parse shouts. “I’ve been making them since I was a kid.”

Bitty takes another bite, trying to chew his fury out. Of course Parse can bake.

Perry gives him a tour of their home, which is really quite lovely (if not eccentric and cosmopolitan in a way Bitty can’t fully articulate). There’s lots of guest rooms, and Perry regails him in anecdotes about their sisters. Bitty’s an only child, but he would hope that he could have sisters as supportive as Perry’s if given the chance.   

When they get back downstairs, more people have arrived.

“Hey,” Perry says before the go outside. “Everyone’s out around here. You can be yourself.”

Bitty swallows thickly. “Thanks. I’m glad Jack is on a good team.”

Perry shrugs. “Life has a funny way of turning out.”

Bitty chuckles. “Yeah, it does.”

He thinks the rest of the day will be a breeze. The team loves his pie. He and Jack are chatting with Goose and Johnson. Jack’s arm is wrapped around his waist, and they’re at a party full of gay people. Everything’s going well.

So of course Parse decided to pull up a chair and sit down.

“So Bittle,” Parse says. “What do you think of Vegas so far?”

“It’s hot,” Bitty deadpans.

Parse snickers. “No, duh. Jack taken you to any drag shows yet? We’ve got some of the best in the world.”

Bitty’s about to tell him to fuck off but Jack says, “Not yet,” with a small smile.

“Well that’s another thing you can do while you’re here,” Parse say. “There’s lots of good shows and clubs. Plus, the queer scene around here is amazing.”

“I’m sure,” Bitty says.

Parse nods, gulping down the rest of his drink.

Goose takes the cup out of his hand, “I’ll go refill this.”

“Love you,” Parse shouts after him.

Really, it’s like Parse is begging to be knocked down a peg or two.

“I didn’t know NHL stars were too important to get their own drinks,” Bitty chirps.

Parse cracks his neck. “It’s not really a matter of importance, as much as self destructive alcohol abuse.”

Bitty twists his mouth. “My, aren’t you an open book.”

“Could say the same about you, Southern Hospitality.” Parse takes the cup out of Bitty’s hand. “You deserve a refill of the good stuff. You drink tequila?”

“Not particularly,” Bitty says.

Parse looks at Jack. “Can he handle shots?”

Bitty clenches his teeth. “ _He_ can answer for himself, thank you very much. And yes I can.”

Parse shrugs. “Cool, maybe some other time then. I wasn’t kidding about the drink. So, uh, be right back.”

Johnson’s eyes trail after him. “If he doesn’t come back in five minutes, I’ll go after him.”

“Do you always babysit him?” Bitty asks pithily.  

Johnson chuckles. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what’s it like?”

“Bits,” Jack protests.

“Nah it’s fine,” Johnson says. “It’s not babysitting because it’s not a chore. He isn’t a burden. He’s family.”

Bitty thinks Johnson’s been out in the desert too long, or maybe he’s always been this weird.

After ten minutes, Bitty volunteers to go looking for him. He finds Kent coming out of the restroom. His eyes are bloodshot. Perfect, Bitty thinks, who knows what he did in there.

“You have no shame, do you?” Bitty asks.

Parse shrugs. “I have like zero impulse control.”

Bitty’s rubs his temple. He wasn’t going to do this today. He’s been putting off leaving the rental for a reason. But he knew the second he got Parse alone, he would let him have it.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“What do you mean, short stuff? I thought we were having some good old fashioned fun,” Parse says.

“Stop the bullshit. I don’t care what you say to me, but stay away from _him_.”

Parse could do whatever he wants to him, but Bitty would rather die than see Parse sink his teeth into Jack again.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Parse says calmly.

Bitty eyes him quizzically. “Really? Just like that?”

“What did you think? I was going to try to ‘steal your man’ or some shit?” Parse looks at Bitty expectantly.

Bitty’s never pretended to be less petty than he is. People just normally don’t catch on this quickly.

Kent chuckles. “Listen, that is never going to happen, trust me.”

Bitty feels his eye twitch. “You’ll forgive me if I’m skeptical.”

He shrugs. Kent’s eye moves to something behind Bitty. Ken’ts face falls.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kent says. “It’d never work out anyway. Love shouldn’t be that _hard_. Right Jack?”

Kent’s stalks away. Bitty watches him go; he pushes past Jack like he’s nothing. Jack doesn’t seem surprised or upset.

Bitty huffs. “He’s impossible.”

Jack scratches the back of his neck. “There’s something we should talk about.”

“No kidding,” Jeff Troy says behind them. He nods his head toward the stairs.

Bitty feels his stomach bottom out; something about the anger in Jeff’s eyes makes him shudder. But it’s not as if they’ve done something wrong. They’re just innocent bystanders on the path of Hurricane Kent.

_/.\\_

_December 2014_

Kent wakes up in bed alone. If he’d been sleeping with Jeff or Parker, he wouldn’t really care that they got up early. But he’s got a bad track record for falling asleep next to Jack. He bolts up from bed. The bathroom door is closed. Kent feels like a million bugs are crawling under his skin.  Not willing to let his nerves get the best of him, he rushes into the bathroom. Jack’s brushing his teeth. He doesn’t have a shirt on, but he’s alive and he’s here. He balks at Kent’s (probably extremely panicked) face.

Before he can explain, Kent pushes past him. He barely makes it to the toilet bowl before he pukes last night’s dinner. He really hopes this doesn’t ruin sushi for him. A hand rubs circles into his back. When he starts dry heaving, Jack moves him away. He’s gently being pulled up by his elbow. Jack’s pretty mindful of his cast.

He trembles against Jack’s chest. He hears slow, awful counting to ten in Spanish. He laughs so hard he forgets that he’s crying.

“Better?” Jack murmurs.

“Yea,” Kent says.

“What happened?”

“Got triggered,” he admits. “It’s been a while.”

“What was it?”

Kent shrugs. Jack frowns. And because Kent would literally rather die than disappoint Jack, he caves thirty seconds later.

“I—could you leave the door open? From now on.”

Jack’s frown deepens. “To the bathroom?”

“Yeah, if that’s ok.”

“Why?” he asks.

Kent feels his breath catch in his throat. He doesn’t say because of the draft. That much should be clear by now. After a minute, Jack holds him tighter.

“Fine,” he agrees.

Kent sighs, putting a little more of his weight against Jack’s chest. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

_/.\\_

Bitty rubs his temple furiously. He takes a deep breath. Mama always told him that keeping a positive outlook meant giving people the benefit of the doubt. Until they slip up; then give them hell and never let go.

He thinks about the asshole who told Jack to fuck off. Who made Jack feel small and insignificant and like he wasn’t worth a shred of decency. Somehow, that asshole was also a scared kid who saved Jack’s _life_ ; who spent the better part of a decade building the gayest hockey team possible, for _Jack._ And if that weren’t bad enough, Jack had gone to Vegas. He’d almost signed with the Aces.

He could’ve stayed here. Bitty would’ve never had a chance.

Rage is still boiling under his skin, but parts of him are just cold.

“Look, Kent said to play nice with you, so that’s why I’m telling you to stop being shitty,” Jeff says. “If Parker were here, he’d kick you five ways to Sunday.”

Jack sighs. “We’re sorry. If you want us to go—”

“Fuck no,” Jeff interrupts. “Johnny likes you guys, and Goose and Perry are coming around. Just lay off him, alright? He’s trying really fucking hard to let you do your own thing.”

Bitty snorts. Jeff glares at him.

“Fuck off, ok Bittle? He’s never done anything to you.”

He’s about to open his mouth to argue when Jack says, “He’s right.”

Bitty gapes. “Excuse me?”

“Kent’s never done anything to you, Bits.”

“That’s not the point—”

“He hasn’t done anything to me in a long time,” Jack insists. “And he apologized. He’s trying.”

Bitty’s jaw goes slack. He’s searching Jack’s eyes for some indication that he’s high or scared, or some reason he could be talking about fucking Parse like he isn’t a _monster_. “What are you saying?”

“Whoever you think Kent Parson is,” Jeff says, “you should take another look.”   

Before Bitty can yell at Jeff to fuck off, he leaves. Bitty seethes a little. His jaw is so tense he feels like his molars might break. Jack gives him a soft look. It’s a tiny bit exasperated, but he hugs Bitty like a touch could make the whole world melt away. He wonders how many times Jack did this for Parse, and if it ever helped.

He lets his arms wind around Jack’s torso. Bitty stops thinking to breathe. Jack smells like pine and cinnamon, like always. Only the scent of cinnamon is stronger, spicier, than normal. MooMaw used to explain that flavor combinations were a puzzle. That if a person could sink up the right combination of slight mismatched tastes, they would meld together to make a brand new taste. Jack’s skin tastes like salt and spice every time they have sex. Bitty never stopped to consider how much of Jack was pieces he took from Parse. He never considered that Parse could be capable of doing something thoughtful for another human being. He can still hear every word he spit at Jack.

Bitty thinks about their similarities. Parse is shorter than Jack, and he’s blonde. He’s petty and unashamedly himself, daring people to have a problem with who he is. Maybe that’s not because he’s a cocky asshole; maybe he’s tired of being anyone but him. He reads people as well as Bitty. Parse _bakes_ for fuck’s sake.

Bitty always thought he was an upgrade, not a substitution.

He takes as deep a breath as he can muster. He shakes a little as he puts his hands on Jack’s chest. “If you still had feelings for him, would you tell me?”

He expects Jack to say _of course_ , or something to that effect. Instead, Jack says, “He hates me.”

God has the funniest sense of humor, Bitty recalls. He wonders how much time he has left before his whole life is ripped out from under him. He’s already further from home than he’s ever been. It’s probably only a matter of time.

_/.\\_

Parse stays away for the rest of the barbecue. Bitty catches Parse giving him a lingering look, like he doesn’t know whether to get rid of Bitty or swallow him whole.

The Aces make it to the playoffs. Jack, Jeff, and Parse keep scoring. Parse always puts Jeff in the middle of cellies. Bitty pretends it isn’t completely on purpose. He pretends Jack means it when he says he wants to stay in, or that someone wants to make plans with them but they can cancel if Parse is there.

Bitty pretends he isn’t driving a wedge in the team. Until they find out their rental has termites. They have to get it fumigated. Jeff offers to let them crash at his place. Bitty agrees because he thinks it’s a step in the right direction. They show up to Jeff’s house, and Parse answers the door.

Apparently, Jeff and Parse have been dating for years. Bitty remembers what Parse said about stealing Jack, _listen, that is never going to happen, trust me._ If there were an award for the most oblivious asshole of the year, he’d probably win.

Still, when Parse looks worse for wear after Bitty himself has had another night of fitful sleep, he finds it hard to feel sympathetic. If misery loves company, Bitty can imagine that his attitude will meld with Parse’s just right.

Jack deserves someone better than what they can offer.

_/.\\_

Kent can sleep through a lot of things. He can sleep through ringtones, large protests, gunshots a few blocks over, emergency sirens, even Johnny blasting music at eight am on a Saturday.

But the years have made him a light sleeper when it comes to the sound of people shuffling. He hears the fridge door shut downstairs.

He bolts up, looking at Jeff. He rubs his eyes groggily, psyching himself up for a Jack Zimmermann pep talk about team sports and loyalty and not bearing the weight of every queer player ever on his shoulders. If nothing else, living in Vegas for a decade has prepared him for handling anything Jack throws his way.

He quietly sneaks out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb Jeff. He stops for a moment overlooking the main floor. He expects to see Jack microwaving chicken nuggets, or maybe picking a movie to watch. He doesn’t expect to see Bittle whisking wet ingredients in a bowl. He wonders if Jack’s too bored by sane people to date one.

Kent scrubs his face and takes a deep breath. He trudges downstairs, ready to tell Bittle to go the fuck to bed. Bittle doesn’t notice him right away. It gives Kent a second to really look at him. He’s lifelessly staring at the bowl he’s whisking. His eyes are red and glazed over in a way Kent doesn’t normally see on other people. Something doesn’t sit right at all.

Kent clears his throat. “Hey.”

Bittle jumps, chest heaving as he gasps for air. His eyes are full blown panicked. He looks like he’s seen a ghost. Kent’s jaw slacks. He knows exactly why Bittle can’t sleep. Fuck.

“Wow, ok breathe,” Kent says walking toward him slowly. “Do you know where you are?”

Bittle sneers, stilling enough to glare at Kent. “What kind of question is that?”

“The kind you ask someone who’s fucking disassociating,” Kent says a tad (probably extremely) impatiently.

Bittle puts down the bowl, finally. He grips the counter tighter than Kent thinks is probably comfortable, closing his eyes.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Bittle says quietly. “You can go back to bed now, I’ll be up in a little.”

Kent crosses his arms, as if he hasn’t said that himself a million times over. He still gets nightmares about Jack dying all the time. And he’s the one who fucking found Jack. He sighs, wondering how many times Bittle lost sleep worrying about finding a corpse (and maybe about becoming Kent).

He shakes his head, patting Bittle’s shoulder lightly as he passes him. He fills a pot with water, turns the stove on, and reaches for a packet of star soup in the cabinet above. He hums “Cough Syrup” under his breath as he stirs the packet in. He lets it heat up as he goes back to the fridge. Bittle is still watching him in confusion. He takes two black tea bags out of his stash in the butter compartment. He hands them to Bittle, who looks at them like they’re some alien tech.

“Go sit on the couch, pick a rom-com from the rack, and put these on your eyes,” Kent says.

Bittle looks annoyed but too tired to protest. He stalks off. Kent puts whatever Bittle was working on in the fridge for later. He walks over five minutes later with a bowl of soup and a can of guava juice. He nudges Bittle, who actually listened to him about the tea bags, to scoot over a little.

“Here, I’ll put those back in the fridge for now,” Kent says. “You can use them again later.”

Bittle hums, trading them for the soup. Kent leaves the guava juice on his seat, but opens it the second he gets back. He takes a sip before handing it to Bittle, who looks mildly disgusted.

Kent sighs. “This will help, and it’s like—the least invasive thing we’ve ever shared.”

Clearly, that is enough to convince Bittle to begrudgingly drink some. He melts into the couch as he drinks some before handing it back to Kent.

“What’d you pick?” Kent asks as if he can’t tell by the scene currently playing.

“ _Sleepless in Seattle_ ,” Bittle says.

He chuckles. “Funny.”

Bittle huffs like he’s trying to stop himself from laughing too. He shoves some soup in his mouth. Kent’s glad he didn’t make it too warm. He had a feeling Bittle was a little masochistic.

“What’re the tea bags for?” Bittle says.

“So you won’t have bags under your eyes in the morning.”

“You really that vain, Parse?”

Kent smirks. Bittle has more bark than he does bite.

Instead of answering, he says, “Cold water works better than caffeine. Try to nap for at least ten minutes. If you can’t do that—lie still and close your eyes. And don’t stop telling yourself he’s still alive.” Kent takes a deep breath. “I mean, it’s shitty and it kinda makes you feel like shit. But it helps.”

Bittle is quiet. He keeps eating his soup, eyes attentive to the screen. Kent tries not to look at the way he’s shifting in his seat. He must not be used to someone seeing past the bullshit.

“What did he look like?” he asks finally.

Kent shakes his head. “Don’t do that to yourself. It’s not worth it.”   

Bittle swallows thickly, parting his lips the tiniest amount. “Was it worth it?”

“Which part?”

“Everything,” Bittle says, picking at his bowl.

Kent licks his lips. “My liver could’ve done without the excessive drinking.”

Bittle snorts.

Kent watches Tom Hank’s character talk about his character’s late wife. He remembers being twenty one and wondering if Jack ever talked about him like that—with a sad fondness meant for people laid to rest. It was one of the first times he ever considered himself dead to Jack...and better off dead in general. He shakes his head. It’s been awhile since he’s thought about that at all.  

“I don’t know,” Kent admits. “I was fucked up for a really long time. That isn’t his fault.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “He didn’t fucking _help_ , but he did what he had to do. I can’t blame him for that anymore...Not even for breaking my fucking heart the second time.”

He hears Bittle’s breath hitch.

Kent grins humorously. “He told you about that huh?”

“Kinda,” Bittle says. “I guess...I don’t know the whole story.”

Kent leans back for the first time since he sat down. He turns his head just enough to see Bittle watching him carefully. His eyes are brown like cocoa. They’re warm and swirling with empathy. They briefly remind Kent of his mom’s eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “All you need to know is that once upon a time, Jack lost the keys to his kingdom.”

Kent takes another sip of guava juice, closing his eyes as it trickles through his throat. “Someone had to get this place ready for him.”

Bittle clenches his jaw. “That’s not your burden.”

“It isn’t yours either,” Kent says quietly. “Let the bitter old man die with his sins so you can have your happily ever after, alright?”

Bittle looks like he wants to protest. But instead he goes back to watching the movie. Eventually, he scoots over enough that his head is on Kent’s shoulder.

“Just come find me next time, ok,” Kent murmurs.

“But—”

“I sleep too much,” he lies. “You shouldn’t deal with this by yourself.”

Bittle doesn’t say anything for a while. And then, “Ok.”

Kent feels his eyelids go heavy. “I’m sorry,” he says. Mostly because the last thing he ever wanted was someone to deal with anything that he has.

“For what it’s worth,” Bittle says, “I’m sorry too.”

It doesn’t feel totally right, but it’s good enough for now. Kent decides as Bittle’s soft snores drift in the air that he’ll do everything to make shit better between them. Bittle deserves more than the hand he’s been dealt. If Kent can do anything to alleviate that, he will.   

_/.\\_

Bitty wakes up the next morning drooling on someone’s shirt. He assumes it’s Jack and that he won’t care. He closes his eyes until his mind catches up a bit. His eyes fly open. Parse. He fell asleep on Parse. Part of him wants nothing more than to get off the couch, run across town, and pretend like nothing ever happened.

But a tightness rises in his chest. He doesn’t know the last time someone knew the extent of his paranoia and still treated him like someone worth validating. He closes his eyes again. Parse’s shoulder isn’t rigid and bony like he imagined it would be. It’s comforting, safe.

Kent makes him feel safe.

He slips back into unconsciousness with that thought.

_/.\\_

Kent asks Jack to hang back after practice a few days later.

“How often do you tell Bittle you’re having a bad day?”

Jack furrows his brows, half frowning. “Sometimes...most of the time.”

Kent looks at Jack’s godawful yellow sneakers. Remembering that Jack chooses to be unfashionable makes him internally laugh.

“Not all of the time?”

“Of course not,” Jack says.

Kent nods; he suspected as much. “Well then, start telling him. And tell him when you have a good day, for that matter. Keep telling him how you’re feeling. Don’t let him guess if you’re doing ok.”

Jack doesn’t ask why, he just nods. Kent doesn’t find out if Jack listened to him until halfway through the second round. Jack gets scratched from a game. When Kent and Jeff get back, Jack’s sleeping while using Bittle’s lap as a pillow. Jeff starts to reheat dinner as Kent heads upstairs to take a bath. He looks at the living room one last time when he’s reach the second floor. Bittle stares up at him, mouthing ‘thank you’.

Kent shrugs, walking away. He didn’t do anything.

_/.\\_

They lose the Western Conference finals in five games. The press asks him if he thinks Jack made a difference in the outcome of the season.

“For sure,” Kent says. “We couldn’t have gotten this far without him.”

It’s the most honest answer he’s given in a while.

The locker room is sullen. Kent thinks he can feels Jack cracking on the inside. But he can’t single out anyone when the entire team needs him. Kellen gives her end of the season speech and nods when she wants Kent to get up and say a few words.

He looks every single player in the eye, taking in their disappointment and sorrow. His eyes land on Jack’s. Jack, who’s eyes make him look ten years younger, just waiting for an explanation of what went wrong. His heart catches in his throat.

This time, however, Kent just moves onto Jeff, who’s trying to keep a calm demeanor. It makes Kent’s lip twitch slightly. He has a type, that’s for sure.

“Next year,” he says finally.

The team nods as chatter breaks out.

Wally grimaces. “You gotta be fucking kidding me, Parse.”

Kent shrugs. “Gimme one more season, Winthrop. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Whatever,” Wally says with a smirk.

Everyone starts clearing out for the night. Some guys make plans to go drink their sorrows. Carter gives Kent a look that says “don’t you dare.” Kent gives him the most innocent look possible. It’s enough to assuage him. Some people are loitering around for Kent, so he gets back up after he takes off his gear.

“C’mon, I got hugs to spare,” he says holding his arms out.

Ozzy takes advantage first. Then Carter, Perry, Goose, and Johnny. Wally reluctantly gets in line, after which the younger guys stop milling around and get in line too. Kent feels a little lighter after each one. He can’t give them the cup this year, but he can do little things to ease how achingly close they were.

He’s really proud of them. They played their best, and he knows partying or not, none of them are going home toxic and repressed like the rest of the league. Jeff’s talking with Kellen and some of the assistant coaches. Jack’s...hanging around, checking his phone like he’s waiting for something. Jeff looks between them for a second, frowning before he nods. Kent lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Hey Zimms,” he says.

Jack looks up almost instantly, the tiniest blush creeping onto his face. Kent can’t even stop himself from smiling. He can feel it on his lips. It isn’t the fake smirk he gives to reporters or the one he flashed whenever he showed up at Jack’s school. It’s the smile he wore the first time he kissed Jeff for real, and the last time Jack said he loved him. His heart beats out of his chest.

“C’mon, you can’t get out of this,” Kent says holding his arms out like he did for everyone else.

Jack huffs like it’s some ordeal for him. But Kent sees the way his walk is just the tiniest bit faster. They clutch each other tightly. Kent rests his chin on Jack’s shoulder, shuddering a bit.

“I’m proud of you,” Jack says.

Kent chokes on his own tears. “You didn’t do so bad yourself.”

Instead of berating Kent for fucking up, he snorts.

“Next year,” Jack says as he squeezes tighter.

“You bet your fucking ass.”

He claps Jack’s shoulder as he backs away. He nods toward the hallway. “Go home, I’m sure Bits is dying to see you.”

Jack swallows and exhales deeply. Kent can see there’s something on the tip of his tongue. But fortunately, Jeff saves them both.

“We’re getting Chinese,” Jeff says as he shoos them both. “Call Bitty and tell him to meet at our place.”

Jack playfully glares at Jeff. Kent trails a few feet behind them while they chirp each other on the way to their cars. If this is a dream, he never wants it to end.

_/.\\_

“So what are you guys up to this summer?” Kent asks one afternoon the next weekend.

Locker cleanout and exit interviews are done. Jack and Bitty are leaving the next morning. They’re currently lazing around Kent and Jeff’s pool. Bitty yawns as he stretches out more on his pool chair.

“Well, I’ve got a few festivals and events to go to for my vlog,” Bitty says. “Jack’s coming along to be my camera man.”

Kent chuckles. “You getting paid for this Zimms?”

Jack shrugs.

“That’s love if I’ve ever seen it,” Jeff chirps.

Bitty rolls his eyes, ignoring Jeff. “Then we’re going to visit his parents and mine. We’ll probably spend a bit in Boston.”

Kent nods. “Solid.”

Bitty hums. “What about y’all?”

“Parker’s filming in Vancouver right now,” Jeff says. “We’re going there for a bit and then visiting his family in Virginia before he has to get back to LA.”

“And you’re going with them, Kent?” Bitty asks.

Kent nods. “Yeah, the three of us are a package deal.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “You know you’re their favorite.”

“Sure,” Kent says incredulously. “Like I’m the one they’re always nagging about marriage.”  

“I get ‘when are you going to make and honest man out of Matthew?’ and you get ‘when are you having children?’”

“Fuck, you’re right,” Kent says. “It’s a conspiracy.”

Bitty raises a brow. “I thought only Jeff was dating Parker.”

“Oh yeah,” Kent says. “But they don’t believe us.”

“Hmm,” Bitty says. He gives Kent’s t-shirt a long, disparaging stare. “You’ll never get a tan like that, you know.”

Kent hasn’t come out to Bitty about being trans yet, and he has no plans to any time soon.

So he covers his ass by saying, “I like being cancer free, thanks.”

Bitty huffs. “It’s called sunscreen, sir.”

“You say sunscreen, I say ‘I’m too lazy to reapply sunblock’,” Kent banters.

“Anyway,” Jeff says before their chirping escalates. “We’re going to see my family after that.”

“Where’re you from, Jeff?” Bitty asks with genuine curiosity.

“Ocean City, New Jersey,” he says with a smug grin. “My folks and sister still live out there.”

Kent beams. Of course Jeff isn’t going to give Bitty his complicated back story. But it also blows him away how much Jeff’s grown from that guilt ridden eighteen year old who didn’t know who to call his parents.

Jeff misreads Kent’s smile, and responds with a half-hearted glare. “You’re not spoiling Heather as much as you did last summer.”

Kent feigns offense. “Babe, c’mon. I get three weeks out of the year to be the cool older brother.”

“You have your own sister y’know,” Jeff says. “Fuck that, you’ve got all of Perry’s sisters wrapped around your finger. You don’t have to be everyone’s favorite y’know?”

Kent shrugs. He honestly doesn’t feel like anyone’s favorite. He’s just happy to give people the love they’ve given to him over the years.

“Sounds like y’all have a busy summer ahead,” Bitty says.

“Yeah, but nothing we can’t handle,” Kent says. “You guys coming back for the 4th?”

“No, Mama would throw a hissy fit if we didn’t spend it in Georgia,” Bitty explains.

“What are you doing for your birthday, Kenny?” Jack asks as if it were a simple question and not a punch to the gut.

Fortunately, Jeff leans over to kiss Kent’s temple before checking on their lunch.

“We’re doing a big 4th of July bash, just like every year,” Jeff says.

“Your birthday’s the 4th?” Bitty asks.

“Yeah,” Kent says. “The party’s mainly for these assholes to get drunk.”

Jack stares at him intently. Kent does his best to pretend Jack isn’t trying to pick apart his insides for some secret meaning. It’s not Jack’s fault Kent hates his birthday. Or at least, it’s not _completely_ Jack’s fault.

“Is that what you want?” Bitty asks.

“Of course,” Kent says casually, taking another sip of his daiquiri. “They put up with me every other day of the year. This is my gift to them.”

Bitty turns to Jack, who’s giving him an equally concerned look. Kent rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be right back,” Kent says.

He goes inside and chugs a bottle of water. He can’t down straight vodka and pretend to be ok. He isn’t up for talking about his birthday hang-ups, and they should really leave it alone. Water gives him an excuse to get his breathing under control and to use the bathroom. He goes back out ten minutes later.

Bitty’s watching him like he’s an injured animal or something. Kent cracks the best, most realistic grin he can muster. He does what he does best when he couldn’t give a fuck about himself, he focuses on someone else.

“Gimme your phone,” he tells Bitty.

Bitty doesn’t ask why, he just does. Kent puts his number into Bitty’s phone.

“Call me if you need anything,” Kent says. “Even if you’re just bored.”

“Ok,” Bitty says.

When Jack and Bitty head out for the night, Bitty gives Kent the tightest hug.

“Take care of yourself,” Bitty says.

“You too pal,” Kent says. “I mean it. Zimms, don’t let him work too hard.”

Jack smirks. “I won’t.”

Kent watches their headlights turn on and disappear down the street before closing the front door. Jeff gives him a soft, sad expression.

“What?” Kent asks.

Jeff shakes his head. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

Because Kent has no choice but to believe him, he lets it go. He spends the next week in a bit of a haze. He tells himself it’s just his summer depression getting the best of him. Bitty sends him snaps or texts at least twice a day. It makes the hollowness in Kent’s chest ache a little less. He tells himself it’s because every selfie proves Jack’s still alive.

He kisses Jeff a little harder on their way out to Vancouver, desperate for love and reassurance. Jeff doesn’t seem too worried, which lets Kent distract him with Parker while Kent stews a bit. Something’s off, but he doesn’t bother digging deeper. Summers will always be the hardest for him. It’s just the way it is.

_/.\\_

Bitty wakes up in Montreal feeling cold and clammy. He can’t remember everything, but he doesn’t have to to feel the way he’s trembling as he reaches out for Jack. He grabs onto a muscular shoulder. It’s warm. Bitty lets out a breath as a stray tear falls down his cheek.

He tries going back to sleep for a few minutes. But he’s slowly remembering everything from the dream. He didn’t find Jack. It was Kent, and then Kent killed himself. Jack’s corpse was calm, undisturbed. Kent’s was battered and almost unrecognizable except some remnants of his tattoos. The idea sinks into his skull, crushing him under the pressure. He tries to remember what Kent said.

_Keep reminding yourself that he’s alive._

It isn’t enough. He slowly rolls off the bed, grabbing his phone. He creeps downstairs. He thinks about baking something, but he can’t think of food right now. Instead, he goes to the TV room and wraps himself in Jack’s favorite blanket. He briefly wonders if it was around when they were younger. If teenage Kent loved this quilted monstrosity as much as Bitty because it makes Jack happy.

He looks at the time on his phone. Normally, he’d be concerned that it’s three in the morning, and calling is probably impolite. Bitty thinks about a house in New Jersey, deciding it’s either wake someone up or drive there himself.

He dials. Kent picks up on the third ring.

“Bits?” Kent says.

The sound of his voice makes Bitty want to laugh hysterically.

“You said to call you...if I needed anything,” Bitty rasps.

“I did,” he says calmly. “Where are you right now?”

“Montreal,”Bitty say. “We’re at his parents’.”

“Ah, so the scene of the crime,” Kent tries to joke.

Bitty tries to laugh, but it comes out as a garbled hiccup. He hears Kent inhale.

“You in the den or the kitchen or what?” Kent asks.

Bitty looks around, assuming that no other room could count as a den. “Uh, the den.”

“Wanna watch something?” Kent asks.

“Together?”

“Yea, I’ve got a shit ton of movies on my laptop. Just pick one they have and we’ll sync it up.”

“Ok…” Bitty murmurs.

He rifles through the DVD collection the Zimmermanns keep perfectly organized in one of the built in bookshelves of the room. Bitty thinks he hears Kent chuckle at one point. He wonders how many times Kent sat on this floor with Jack, looking for something to watch. If they ever got distracted from picking a movie and started making out. He tries to imagine a young Kent, undamaged and in love. Not for the first time, he craves a story he isn’t sure he’s entitled to.

“What’s your favorite movie?” Bitty asks.

“Top Gun,” Kent says.

Bitty glares at the wall in front of him, knowing better. “That’s Jeff’s favorite movie.”

“Fine, you caught me,” he relents. “ _When Harry Met Sally_.”

Bitty looks around for a minute, searching for the title among a couple hundred spines. “They have that, wanna watch?”

“Sure,” Kent says.

It takes them both a few minutes to set up their respective viewings. Kent counts them down from three so they press play at the same time. They get to the orgasm scene in mostly silence. Bitty can’t contain his laughter. It feels good; it feels even better to not feel alone after one of his nightmares.

“You wanna talk about it?” Kent asks suddenly.

His breath hitches. “You sure? We don’t have to—”

“I can handle it,” Kent cuts him off, “promise.”

Bitty licks his lips. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s started to care enough about Kent that Kent’s also the problem. Not that he knows for sure Kent would ever do anything. But, the man can joke about alcohol abuse like someone who’s seen hell. He can shrug off his own needs and put the entire world first. Kent said himself that he was fucked up for a very long time.

He swallows thickly, wondering if the difference between Kent and Jack was that Jack at his worst wanted everything to stop and that Kent at his worst needed to heal everyone’s wounds until he bled.

“Tell me what happened.” Bitty says finally.

Kent doesn’t say anything at first. Bitty’s convinced he’s about to be told to fuck off. Which, maybe he deserves.

“I told him I’d be back in an hour,” Kent says. “I was going to pick up my suit from the cleaners and I stopped to buy timbits on the way back.”

Bitty clenches his jaw.

“I got back and told him to come down. He didn’t answer. I shouted like five more times. I started going upstairs.” Kent rasps. “I warned him ‘if you’re fucking with me, I’m going to kill you’.”

Bitty realizes all too quickly that he’s hit the wrong button. “Kent…”

Kent ignores him. “H-his door was closed right? So I thought, ‘maybe he’s blasting Death Cab’.”

Kent laughs. The sound is sickly and haunted. Bitty pales.

“It was quiet as shit. But I swear I could hear ‘I Will Follow You into the Dark’.” Kent says.

Kent’s breathing gets heavier, faster. Part of Bitty wants to tell him to stop, that’s enough. But after years of guessing, speculating, and never really prodding Jack, the answers were right in front of him.

“It was like a movie—or  an out of body experience, I guess. His doorknob was so fucking cold,”

Kent says.

He stops talking. Bitty thinks he’s waiting for some indication that everything’s ok. It isn’t, but they’ve gotten this far. He wants to hear how it ends.

“What next?” Bitty asks.

“His room was a fucking mess,” Kent’s voice cracks. “I don’t know what his room looks like now. But—he had fucking awards everywhere. And they were all crumbled or torn or broken or—fuck, you could tell what he was thinking.”

Jack’s room doesn’t have a single award in sight. His walls are littered in photography posters and pictures he’s taken of his loved ones over the years. Bitty wonders if it was his decision to get rid of everything or his parents’.

He can’t imagine the wreckage Kent’s describing. It’s extremely surreal. His Jack wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t go on a self destructive rampage. But then again, the only reason _his_ Jack is around is because Kent found him on time.

“What was he thinking?” Bitty asks out of morbid curiosity.

He can guess, but he wants to know for sure.  

“That he didn’t earn any of it,” Kent says. “That he’d never live up to _fucking_ Bad Bob.”     

Bitty huffs. The anger in Kent’s voice is unexpected. “First time I’ve ever heard anyone talk about Bad Bob like that.”

Kent shudders audibly. “He’s probably different now. But I hated him for a really long time. We both fucked Jack up a lot.”

Not for the first time, Bitty wants to smack Kent in face. However, this time it’s because he can’t believe how much Kent blames himself for everything, after all these years. It occurs to Bitty that Kent, at some point, must’ve thought he killed Jack.

“Jack hurt you too.” Bitty argues.

Kent doesn’t say anything for a while. Bitty thinks he hears something like a muffled sob.

“Yeah, so,” he pushes forward. “His bathroom room door was closed.”

“Lord,” Bitty sighs.

There’s a lot to consider about that single sentence, and about the way Kent’s so eerily calm around closed doors. No wonder.

“You don’t want to know the rest,” Kent says.

“I do,” Bitty insists. “I need to.”

“I can’t—remember exactly,” Kent says. “He was on unconscious on the floor. I couldn’t find his pulse. I called 911. I called his parents. I spent emergency money taking a cab to the fucking hospital.”

“I thought you said you didn’t remember.”

“I only know this shit because his mom told me,” Kent admits. “I guess I didn’t sleep for three days after that. I only got home because my mom called Alicia and had her find me.”

Bitty’s speechless.

“Yeah,” Kent says as if his silence is an answer.

He nods even though Kent can’t see him.

“Does that answer your question?” Kent asks.

“Did you know?” He dares to ask.

Because part of him is still paranoid and angry. Sometimes, he wants nothing more than to forget Kent exists and hope that makes all of Jack’s problems go away. Maybe he doesn’t hate Kent anymore, but he’d give anything to make sure Jack is safe.

“Know what? That it was gonna happen?” Kent hisses.

He grips the leather couch tightly. Bitty feels a vice-like grip around his neck.

“Of course not,” he snaps. “I loved him as much as you do. You think I wanted him dead?”

“No,” Bitty thinks out loud.

“Exactly,” Kent says.

Bitty settles further into the couch. He stares at the screen again.

“Why’s this your favorite movie?”

“Why do you think?” Kent asks.

It’s a movie about two people who don’t get along at first. About two people who take a decade to finally get in sync with each other, and fall in love. Bitty wonders if Kent will always love Jack. He’s slowly coming to accept the fact that Jack never stopped loving Kent. Bitty’s glad he didn’t find out sooner. He doesn’t think he could’ve handled it.

“How’d you do it?” Bitty asks.

“What?”

“Move on,” he clarifies.

“I cracked a lot of eggs,” Kent says. “Did a lot of shit I regret.”

“Who’d you hurt the most?”

“It wasn’t Jack, if you’re wondering,” he says.

Bitty nods, mostly to himself. He thinks it’s probably Jeff or Parker, or one of their other friends.

“Did you ever apologize?” Bitty asks.

“I’m working on it,” Kent says.

“Do they forgive you?”

“No.”

“Do you still talk to them?”

“Yeah,” Kent admits.

“They must care about you a whole lot,” Bitty says reassuringly.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Kent brushes him off.

Bitty is tired. He is tired of worrying about things that don’t matter anymore, but he’s even more tired of Kent doing the same exact thing.

“Why are you so hard on yourself?” Bitty asks.

“Because one time I wasn’t,” he says. “And I’ve been paying for it ever since.”

“Ke—”

“Let’s keep watching,” Kent interrupts his protests. “You’re missing a fucking good scene.”     

At some point, Bitty starts drifting off, relieved that nothing will happen tonight.

The last thing he hears is the soft murmur of Kent’s voice.

“Night, Bits. Sweet dreams.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title - 2 Yrs Late by Blankts & Teddy 
> 
> I have most of this fic written! It will update weekly on Fridays 
> 
> You can listen to the playlist for this fic [on Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/palateens/playlist/6Sy5EK1I6OFKriYEqwVWOu)
> 
> **warning descriptions:** Bitty has recurring nightmares about Jack's overdose, at one point, he has a graphic nightmare blaming Kent for Jack's "death". Later on, he has a nightmare about Kent committing suicide and immediately calls Kent to make sure he's alive. At which point, he has Kent retell what happened the night of the overdose. 
> 
> also, there's a flashback to December 2014 (after the Epikegster). in the Ace Off universe, Kent self-harms very badly after Epikegster (not depicted in this fic). Jack decides to give Vegas a shot and moves there for a week. The flashback is mainly Kent's panic attack and subsequent vomiting when he wakes up to find Jack not in bed and the bathroom door closed


	2. you fill my head with pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s too good for you,” they say simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's one part of this chapter that is literally just copy and pasting [this ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12088860) I wrote a while back (that inspired this fic). So, if you've read it before, you can totally skip that part. And if you didn't! No worries, it's there for a reason 
> 
> go to end notes to read spoilers on ED, Body Dsyphoria, and Splitting

They celebrate Jack’s birthday in Boston. It’s the last thing he and Bitty do before heading back to Vegas. Bitty snorts at the thought as their plane lands. He never expected to miss Vegas, let alone be excited that preseason is almost upon them. They get groceries on their way back to the rental.

Bitty heaves a sigh of relief when he notices that the cleaning company they hired has been coming regularly; there’s not a spec of dust in sight. Jack puts his half of the groceries down on the kitchen island.

“Wish we could repaint,” Bitty says.

“We could,” Jack says casually.

“They explicitly forbid that in the lease.”

Jack starts putting food away, ignoring Bitty’s protests.

“We could buy our own house,” Jack says with his head half in the fridge.

If Bitty were anyone else, he might think that this is a pleasant spur-of-the-moment suggestion from a man trying to appease his long-term boyfriend. But Bitty is not most people. He knows Jack, and how long it takes him to bring up an idea even once he’s gotten it into his head.

Bitty crosses his arms. “Do you have anywhere in mind?”

“Maybe,” Jack says casually.

“Do you have a realtor?”

“Yes.”

Bitty huffs. “Did you make an offer already?”

“Of course not,” Jack says.

“You know what house you want but you haven’t made an offer yet, silly me,” Bitty chirps.

Jack has the decency to blush before he smirks. He pulls out his phone and hands it to Bitty with a web page pulled up. He stares at the phone for a while, flipping through pictures of the property and wondering why the exterior looks vaguely familiar.

It hits him once he looks at the house number for long enough. He looks up at Jack.

“This is across from Kent’s house,” Bitty says.

“Yes.”

He walks around the island, putting the phone down so he can wrap his arms around Jack’s waist. “And that’s what you want?”

“Only if you do, Bits,” Jack says softly. “I want you to be happy.”

Bitty nods, pressing a kiss into Jack’s collarbone. Maybe a few years ago, he would’ve fought tooth and nail before sleeping within a hundred miles of Kent. But now, Bitty doesn’t know what he’d do without him. Even the thought makes his stomach twist in knots.

Jack wants to live across the street from Kent. Whether Jack’s ready to admit it or not, he wants Kent back.

Bitty swallows thickly. He’s still getting acquainted with the nuances of polyamory. He’s not sure he’ll be ready to share Jack any time soon. But he knows two things are certain. He can trust Jack to let him know what he needs when he needs it, and he can trust Kent with everything else.

Bitty kisses Jack firmly, caressing his ass before squeezing it tight. Jack chuckles lowly. They’re okay. He’s knows that much.

_/.\\_

Bitty drags Kent to the farmer’s market on the last Sunday of September. They make their rounds slowly as Kent catches Bitty up on the team’s rumor mill.

“You’d make a killing out here,” Kent says as they pass a fruit stand.

“I haven’t made jam in a while,” Bitty says. “I’d probably burn out after a month or two.”

“So? Sell them for fifty a pop. It’s easy money.”

Bitty tsks. “No one would buy that.”

“They would if I tell them to,” Kent says smugly.

“How much does your mother charge for pastries?”

“Enough not to worry about going broke.”

“You wouldn’t let that happen,” Bitty points out.

Kent chuckles. “Yea, you’re right.”

Bitty tells him about Holster’s promotion at work and about Lardo’s latest installation. He talks about the Haus 2.0 and how the Tadpoles are adjusting to adulthood. Kent makes them stop at a booth selling tortillas.

“Tres de maiz, por fa,” Kent tells the woman. “Y una de harina.”

“Show off,” Bitty mutters.

“I’m not the one who took French for his boyfriend.” Kent winces, as if he immediately regrets saying it. “Fuck I—”

“No don’t worry about it,” Bitty assures him with a slight blush. “You’re right.”

Kent rubs the back of his neck. “I was just chirping you, Bits.”

“I know. Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Kent nods as he pulls his credit card out. “Did it help?”

“Not really,” he admits. “I did the bare minimum and hated every second of it.”

Kent’s quiet for a moment. Bitty doesn’t like when he gets this way. He’s learned from months of being around the man that he rarely says what he means, especially if he has to stop and think about it. Johnson told him last week that Kent will warm up to him eventually. Bitty doesn’t know how long that will take.

They make it through the rest of that section without a word spoken between them. Bitty’s still surprised that he has an old Beetle instead of a sports car. Apparently, the car he brought to Epikegster belongs to his sister, Izzy.

“Per and I could teach you some Spanish if you want,” Kent says finally.

Bitty lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “I appreciate the offer, honey, but languages aren’t my forte.”

“Perry’s fucking awesome at teaching, though,” Kent argues.

“I don’t know…” Bitty says.

“We can talk about Jack and Jeff in front of them.”

That’s reason enough for him. “I’m in.”

He watches Kent pump his fist in the air triumphantly, and pretends to be offended. Kent’s phone goes off. Bitty watches him turn off an alarm called “snack”.

“What’s that for?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Kent murmurs.

Bitty isn’t convinced, but he lets it go. Until another alarm called “eat” goes off five minutes later. And then another one when they reach the car.

“Do we need to stop somewhere on the way home?” Bitty asks.

“Nah, it’s nothing, seriously.”

“That’s an awful lot of fuss for nothing, Kent.”

Kent groans. “I’m grabbing some jicama from the bag, ok?”

“Thank you.” He tries to keep his tone light instead of exasperated.

Bitty doesn’t let Kent drive until he’s eaten a few. He can’t remember the last time he paid so much attention to a mouth that isn’t Jack’s. Kent pops a thick slice of jicama into his mouth. Bitty fixates a bit on the languid movements of his tongue.

Kent doesn’t notice. Bitty’s pretty sure that if he wasn’t demisexual, they’d be having a very awkward conversation right now.

“Bits, scale of one to ten, how close are we?” Kent asks as he shifts the car into gear.

“Seven? Maybe eight,” he says.

“You wanna know about the alarms.”

“Of course.”

Kent keeps his eyes on the road. “Promise you won’t tell Jack.”

Bitty’s jaw clenches. It’s not what he expected to hear.  More than that, he isn’t sure if it’s a promise he’s interested in keeping.

“Does Jeff know?” He asks.

“Yea, and Perry and Johnny and like, most of the team and all the staff,” Kent says.

“So why not Jack?”

“Never mind,” Kent says quietly.

Bitty needs air. He rolls the window down, letting his arm dangle in the wind. It’s only refreshing because of how fast they’re going. Bitty thinks about his lungs burning from the screams he wants to let out.

He wants to tell Jack and Kent to talk their shit out. He doesn’t want to become some secret keeper between them. Some days, it’s amusing watching them on their best behavior with each other. Others, it’s downright infuriating.

“Fine,” Kent says. “Tell him, or don’t. I don’t care.”

“Tell him what,” Bitty presses.

“I didn’t eat much in 2010 or 2015,” Kent says. “And it’s still fucking hard sometimes. So I set fucking alarms to make me.”

Bitty files the information away under “remember for later”. He thinks about holding Jack close when he can barely keep himself together. He remembers how useless he felt after Kent left the Haus almost six years ago. But every time he hears a new piece of Kent’s side of the story, a part of his heart rips slightly. Because there was never an evil boyfriend and a victim. Just two confused teenagers hiding from the world and each other.

“Thank you for telling me,” Bitty says.

“Yea, well, we’re friends,” Kent says, gripping the steering wheel tightly as they turn into their neighborhood. “I feel like I owe you the truth every now and then.”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t want me to,” he promises.

Kent purses his lips, but then shrugs. “Nah you can tell him if you really want to.”

Another issue Bitty has with Kent is that he can’t read him well enough, _yet_.  “What are you worried about?”

“Him blaming himself,” he says.

Bitty exhales deeply. “Y’all have a mountain of baggage to crawl through.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes I’d like nothing more than to lock you in a room for a day and not let you out until you talk,” Bitty mutters as he gets out of the car.

“As long as it’s not a bathroom,” Kent jokes.

Bitty tenses. Kent parks the car in his driveway. He gives Bitty a concerned frown.

“What, too soon?” Kent asks.

Bitty shakes his head. “When won’t it be too soon?”

“Hopefully soon,” Kent says. “Probably never.”

“Then why joke?”

“Makes it hurt less.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified,” Bitty chirps.

Kent shrugs. “Both, both is good.”

_/.\\_

“Hey y’all,” Bitty says to the camera as soon as he’s on his marker. “Pre-season just started, which means I’m back in Vegas.”

“I’ll have a house tour video up sometime next week, but for now you may have noticed we have a special guest today,” he gestures to Kent.

“Aw I’m special?” Kent chirps

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Some of you may recognize two time Stanley Cup winning captain, Kent Parson.”

Kent waves to the camera. “Hey.”

“But today he’s not here as an NHL player,” Bitty explains. “Believe it or not, Kent has a few recipes up his sleeve that I don’t even know.”

“White boy,” Kent fake coughs.

“Says the blonde,” he chirps.

“Fake blonde, but thanks,” Kent says.

Bitty hums. “Really? I can’t tell.”

“I know, that’s the point,” Kent says smugly.

“You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?”

“What can I say? I’m a complicated guy.”

“Uh huh.” Bitty crosses his arms. “Well you’re in charge. Tell my followers what we’re making.”

Kent stands up a little straighter. “We’re making palmeritas, or as my abuela likes to call them, orejas.”

“Oi-re-has?” Bitty stumbles over the word.

Kent laughs. “You’re so white. I love you.”

He blushes, and Kent slings an arm around his shoulders.

“Orejas,” Kent says again. “O like Oh fuck.”

“This is a family friendly channel sir,” Bitty hisses.

Kent waves him off. “You can bleep that out. O then re like rey like a pocket full of sun.”

“Lord, okay,” Bitty groans. “O-rey.”

“And then the j in spanish sounds like an h,” Kent explains. “So say has like you’re at the doctor’s.”

“What?”

“Like—stick your tongue out and say ‘ahh’.” Kent demonstrates. “Now try again, orejas.”   

“Orejas,” Bitty says.

“Orejas,” he corrects.

“Orejas.”

“Or-re-jas.”

Bitty rubs his temple. “I don’t even know what we’re saying anymore.”

Kent chuckles. “Close enough.”

“I’m editing this out,” Bitty says.

Kent snorts, flashing Bitty a toothy grin. “No you’re not.”

Bitty wasn’t planning on editing it much, but Kent doesn’t have to know that.

Kent gets through the demonstration relatively smoothly. Obviously, he isn’t short on media training, and his smile alone with give Bitty well over a million hits. It amazes him that Kent’s been baking as long as he has.

“Anything else you want to say to our viewers?” Bitty asks when they’re showing off the finished palmeritas.

“Yea.” Kent grins at Bitty softly. “If you’re around NYC, go to Mariana’s in Harlem. She makes the best fucking conchas in the city.”

Bitty loves how much Kent loves his mom. It makes him breathe a little easier. He can’t tell if it’s because he likes knowing there are people out there who love Kent so much, or maybe that not everyone has to rebuild their relationship with their family after coming out. It’s probably a little bit of both.

He’s been friends with Kent for less than a year, and Kent already means more than Bitty can describe. It’s frightening and surreal, but also exhilarating.

“Unless you’re a terf,” Kent adds. “Then fuck off.”

Bitty can’t argue with that. “Alrighty, thanks for watching, and have a great week wherever you are!”

_/.\\_

It’s November. The season’s off to a decent start. Announcers are already trying to tear Jack and Kent down. They talk a cheap game about how long the golden team can keep their record from last season up. Kent redirects reporters more often than not by talking about how fucking awesome Jeff and Jack are playing.

Anything to get them to shut up about the Parson-Zimmermann-patented no look one timer. They’re not those people anymore, and he’d give a million bucks for everyone to let him close that chapter of his life.

The Q is a scar, however. Just like the ones on his chest, lingering long after the pain has dulled. Just like the periods he gets every now and then—reminding him that he’ll always feel a little out of place everywhere. Sometimes it’s not about gender at all; it’s just about being the guy who gets what it’s like to not be welcome somewhere but pushes his way in regardless.

Kent wakes up on the Sunday of family skate with a familiar ache in his back. He groans, mentally psyching himself up for a long day. He shuffles to the bathroom, grabbing his old menstrual cup out of the back of one of the drawers.   

Jeff complains for him to get back into bed. Kent chuckles, remembering that they’re supposed to get there fashionably late so other people can get some camera time.

“C’mon you lazy ass,” Kent chirps. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Jeff’s protests get louder, but not more coherent. Kent goes downstairs anyway, grabbing eggs and some chorizo and the bread Bitty conned him into accepting the week before.

Speaking of the devil, Bitty comes waltzing into the house maybe ten minutes later. The scrambled eggs are almost ready. Well, Jeff’s share at least is.

“Something smells good here,” Bitty says, taking a long whiff.

“Smells better than your house, that’s for sure,” Kent says.

Bitty snorts. “Very funny.”

“I try to be,” Kent says with a shrug. “Want some?”

“Sure, what’s the occasion?”

“I can make breakfast, Bits.”

He looks like he wants to chirp Kent mercilessly, but hesitates. There’s something about the way that Bitty looks at his apparent discomfort that makes Kent want to squirm. He hasn’t been watched with this much scrutiny in a while. He isn’t any more used to it.

“You got a point there,” he says instead.

“Is Zimms coming over?” Kent asks.

He almost flinches. Other people on the team get to call Jack Zimms. Bitty can call him honey or baby or sweet pea or any number of grotesquely sweet names. Kent doesn’t get shit. He gets strained formalities to reinforce the idea that he knows how to stay in his own fucking lane.

Bitty doesn’t bat an eyelash as he grabs the plate that Kent’s holding out for him.

“Yeah, he should be here in a second,” Bitty says, watching Kent closely.

“Cool,” Kent says neutrally.

Bitty makes a dissatisfied sort of click with his mouth. He flashes the tiniest peak of his upper teeth for a second. Good, Kent thinks. He’s disappointed, but not enough to call Kent out on whatever he thinks is wrong. Kent’s always made it his business to learn the body language of people he cares about.

He doesn’t think too much about it when Jeff comes trudging down to eat. But he knows he’s leaning against the kitchen island a little too much. Jeff clearly knows what’s up by the way he takes a long look at Kent while grabbing a coffee mug. He makes hot chocolate for Kent (with water, just how he likes thanks).

Jeff greets Bitty quietly. He hands Kent his hot chocolate, kissing his temple tenderly. Kent has to fight back a blush. Jeff rubs some circles into the small of his back. Kent has to bite back a groan. He leans his head against Jeff’s shoulder.

“Wanna go back to bed?” Jeff asks.

“You kidding? We get to see Vanessa and Tyler today,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Smithy and West can bring the kids over after.”

“But I promised Vanessa I’d take her around the rink a few times,” Kent insists.

“She’s five, she’ll forgive you,” Jeff says.

“Y’all alright?” Bitty asks.

Kent stands up a little straighter. “Yea, just tired.”

He was so distracted, he didn’t notice Jack come in. He’s already sitting at the table with his own cup of coffee. Jack’s drinking his cup methodically.

The thing about learning people’s body language is that sometimes he forgets that other people can read him just as well.

Kent blushes at the special brand of Jack Zimmermann ‘I know what’s wrong why aren’t you fixing it’ glare. Kent doesn’t meet his eyes for the rest of breakfast. He thinks he feels Jack’s hand brush his briefly. He shakes it off.

He can’t start making up things in his head. Kent of all people knows what happens when he lets ideas snowball.

They carpool to the rink because it makes no sense to take multiple cars. Johnny meets them in the parking garage, helping Bitty take pies as they head inside.

Most team’s family skates involve significant others and kids. Only they would have multiple families make a mini reunion out of it. Then again, the Aces brought a lot of people together. Ozzy and Perry’s moms have been married a few years now. Izzy and Rosa are moving to LA together. Carter’s mom, Dawn, is best friends with Kent’s mom. Lots of people have something riding on this day. The last thing Kent’s going to do is make them worry by not showing up.

Smithy and West have the kids bundled up when they get inside. Vanessa spots them first, bolting away from her fathers, barreling straight toward Kent.

Cramps or not, he still has the mobility to catch her in a hug. He picks her up gently, squeezing her tight as she cheers happily.

“Hey princess,” Kent says softly. “How’s my favorite girly girl today?”

“Not girly, Kenny,” Vanessa says through giggles.

“Really?” Kent gasps for her. “Well, I apologize. I just thought these cute pigtails were pretty.”

“It’s not pigtails Kenny, it’s flow,” Vanessa says.

“Oh my bad, you gonna be a hockey player just like your daddies?”

“Yea!” She squeals excitedly.  “I’m gonna be tough and strong, just like you.”

Kent laughs, kissing her cheek. “You can already kick my ass ten ways to sunday, sweetie.”

“Damn right,” she says triumphantly.  

“Damn straight,” he offers her a fist bump that he gleefully mimics

“I knew you were teaching her to curse,” Smithy says with his arms crossed and a bemused smile on his face.

“It’s Parker’s fault,” Kent says.

“You can’t blame him for everything,” Smithy argues.

“He can and he will,” someone says behind them.

Kent turns around with Vanessa still on his hip. Parker’s behind Jack, carrying his skates over his shoulder. Jeff has his mouth hanging open.

“What are you doing here?” Jeff asks, awestruck.

Parker gives him a dopey smirk that Kent rarely sees directed at anyone else. He moves past Bitty and Jack, raking a hand through Jeff’s hair.

“I came for family skate, duh,” Parker says. “Here’s my skates.” Parker lifts them slightly. Then he kisses Jeff firmly. “And here’s my family.”

Jeff huffs in disbelief. “You jerk. I love you.”

“Rude much, Park?” Kent chirps.

“Hey to you too, Parson,” he says. “What, you want a kiss too?”

He wants to laugh and say ‘fuck off’, but he’s extremely aware of the toddler that he’s holding.

So instead he says, “Nah, I cash it in later. For Christ’s sake, though, introduce yourself to Bittle.”

Parker looks confused as Bitty clears his throat. Kent never realized how hilarious their height difference would be until this moment. Parker’s almost a foot taller than Bits.

“I’m Matthew, you can call me Parker.”

They awkwardly shake hands.

“Eric, my friends call me Bitty,” Bitty says politely.

He doesn’t look as strained as the first time he met Jeff. Kent counts that as a win.

Parker glares at Jack.

“Zimmermann,” he says curtly.

“Park,” Jack says just as acerbically.

Bitty glances at Kent for some sort of explanation. Kent rolls his eyes. It’s a long story.

_/.\\_

“They hate each other’s guts,” Kent tells Bitty as soon as they’re on the ice, once Kent has given Vanessa back to her dads so they can talk without filtering.

Bitty snorts. He could’ve guessed that much.

“Any particular reason?”

“Well…” Kent says awkwardly.

Johnson skates up next to them. “Oh, it’s because of Kent.”

“What?” Bitty asks.

“Hey, knock it off Johnny,” Kent mutters.

Johnson looks unperturbed. If anything, he gives Kent an unimpressed frown. “Were you going to tell him?”

“Maybe,” Kent says.

Bitty knows him well enough to spot a lie.

“So I can,” Johnson says.

Kent rolls his eyes. “Fine, whatever.”

“Parker thinks Jack only came to Vegas so he could blame Kent for not signing,” Johnson says.

Bitty doesn’t ask which time. He assumes Johnson means the first. That Jack had already made up his mind, but felt the need to prove it. To whom? Bitty isn’t sure. He could easily think it was an attempt to placate Kent. But Jack doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want, not anymore. He wouldn’t have flown halfway across the country just to make a point.

Not for the first time, bile rises in Bitty’s throat at the thought of losing Jack. Kent puts an arm around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. It helps him breathe a little easier. They aren’t those people anymore. Maybe they never were. Kent would never take Jack away from him. Even if it feels painfully obvious to everyone but those two that they’d do anything for each other.

“And Jack?” Bitty asks, pushing down his paranoia.

“Thinks Parker should date Kent if he’s so in love with him,” Johnson chirps.

He balks at Kent. “I thought you said—”  

“I never said I don’t love Parker,” Kent says.

“But you won’t date him?” Bitty says incredulously.

“Because we drive each other fucking crazy,” Kent says, taking his arm away so he can shove his hands in his pockets. “Besides, he and Jeff have a good thing going.”

Bitty turns to Johnson to give him a better explanation.

“Oh, Kent thinks he’s too much to date,” he says. “So if he dated Parker, he’d be too much for both of them, and then they’d have to expand their polycule to make it work.”

“Well what’s wrong with that?” Bitty asks.

“The less people who have to deal with my shit, the better,” Kent mutters.

Bitty frowns, realizing that Kent doing anything for Jack could just as well mean keeping them together.

“Kent,” West shouts from the other side of the rink. “Can you take him for a bit?”

“Of course,” Kent calls back, skating over lazily.

Tyler’s eight months old and the smiliest baby Bitty’s ever seen. His hair is a bouncy cloud of black curls, and he has the best button nose.

“Hey buddy, hey Tyler,” Kent coos as he scoops him out of West’s arms.

“Hi,” the baby says.

“Hi to you, you little munchkin,” Kent says. “C’mon Ty, wanna skate around with me, Uncle Bitty and Uncle Johnny?”

Tyler looks past him, waving excitedly to Bitty.

“Hi,” Tyler squeals to Bitty.

“Well hey there, pumpkin,” Bitty murmurs. “Aren’t you the sweetest little man?”

“You can’t bake him, Bits,” Kent says.

“I wasn’t—”

“I know how you think, and you cannot, will not eat this baby...Unless you start with his little hands!” Kent pretends to gobble Tyler’s hand while the baby screams in delight.

Bitty’s heart swells a little. He knows Kent is great people. He’s dedicated, loyal, and thoughtful to a fault. But the way he smiles and talks to kids is enough to make anyone melt.

“You ever think of kids Bits?” Kent asks as they skate another lap.

“Yea I’d love some,” he says, shrugging, “Someday.”

“Yeah?”

“Yea, did I ever tell you I was a camp counselor?”

“No you didn’t,” Kent says. He slows down a little, his stance gets a bit wider, and Bitty has to stop so he can catch up.

It’s not the first time today that Kent’s seemed a little worse for wear. He didn’t even get hurt at the game yesterday.  It’s also not the first time today he’s caught Jack staring at Kent tensely. Whatever’s going on, he can only assume that Jack’s deliberating whether to do something about it.

After a few more laps, Smithy comes over with Vanessa, who insists it’s her turn. Kent hands Tyler over to Smithy before taking Vanessa back. Bitty doesn’t comment on the way Kent winces when she wraps her legs tightly around Kent’s torso.

“You ok?” Smithy asks.

Kent nods with a tense jaw. “It’s the usual. Nothing new.”

Bitty has no idea what that means, but it seems to be enough to placate Smithy. Kent’s a puzzle that Bitty keeps finding stray pieces for. He’s got most of the outer facade figured out. But he’s only starting to understand Kent’s subtle cues. Like how much he’s struggling to keep a calm face for the rest of the team.

After Kent takes Vanessa around a few times, he hands her off to Goose before excusing himself from Johnson and Bitty. Bitty sees Jack head toward Jeff, dragging him by the arm to the bench.

He hasn’t seen Jack this angry in ages. He has that steely sort of anger that only comes when someone threatens something precious to him. Bitty’s seen it directed at other people over the years, but he’ll never forget the way it felt to be on the receiving end of it.

“What are they arguing about?”

Johnson hums. “Could be anything.”

Bitty snorts. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Maybe I just hate keeping secrets.”

Bitty gives him a withering glare. “Spill.”

“There’s only one thing those two ever fight about.”

“Kent.”

“Bingo,” Johnson says.

“But what’s there even to fight about?”

“Beats me.”

Jack storms out of the rink. He catches Bitty’s gaze briefly, nodding as if to say he has things covered. Bitty sighs, giving him a weak but reassuring smile. He just wishes he knew what there was to have under control.

It’s not that Bitty doesn’t trust them. He just acknowledges that when their emotions are high is when Jack and Kent are most likely to hurt each other. Which easily snowballs into a toxic pool of guilt and resentment. He’d rather save them a few steps if he can.

“I’m gonna go look for Kent,” Bitty says.

“He’s probably in the lounge,” Johnson says.

“Thanks,” he mutters. “You coming too?”

“Nah, Perry’s sister Maggie promised to design me a new tat.”

“I never took you for the kind of person to have tattoos,” he says.

He shrugs, grinning easily. “It takes all kinds, Bits.”

Bitty clicks his tongue. “I guess you’re right.”

“I usually am.”

“Yea, yea,” Bitty says, waving him off.

It takes him a few minutes and at least one wrong turn toward the PR office, but Bitty finds the players’ lounge. Kent’s lying down in a fetal position on the couch. His eyes are shut but his face is twisted in pain. It makes Bitty’s stomach bottom out. This was much worse than what Kent had let on.

“Kenny, what in the world,” he laments quietly.

Kent cracks an eye open. The second he sees Bitty, his face softens. Bitty can’t tell if it’s a front to make him worry less, or if Kent’s genuinely happy to see Bitty worry for him. It’s probably a mixture of both.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Just—taking a breather,” Kent says.

Bitty sits on the other side of the couch. He pats Kent’s thigh gently.

“Is there anything I can do?” Bitty asks.

“Bring me some pie?”

“You got it, baby,” the word slips out of his lips so naturally, he almost doesn’t notice.

Kent doesn’t protest, however. Bitty reminds himself that this team isn’t like most. They’re probably used to pet names and treat physical affection like it’s nothing.

He goes back to the rink, grabbing a slice of lemon meringue off the buffet table. He heads back toward the longue when he sees Jack going in the same direction.

“Hey sweetpea.”

Bitty gives him a small nudge. Some of the tension in Jack’s shoulders melts; he smiles just enough for Bitty to worry less. Jack kisses him softly. It’s enough to remind him that they’re ok.  

“Hey, you having fun?” Jack asks.

“Of course,” Bitty says. “Everyone’s lovely.”

Something in Jack’s other hand catches Bitty’s eye. It looks like a plain old fanny pack, black and worn but clearly still in use judging by how full it is.

“What’s that?” Bitty asks.

“Uh, something for Kent,” he says. “Have you seen him?”

Bitty has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Because of course Jack had everything under control.

“That’s where I’m headed, c’mon,” Bitty says.

Jack’s hand slips into his. Bitty squeezes it back tightly. He memorizes every callous, wondering if Jack ever does the same. If he stays up sometimes after Bitty’s fallen asleep to memorize every inch of his face in case something ever happens to them. If maybe they’re the perfect pair because they’re staring at each other while gasping for breath, wondering how long they can keep a good thing going.

Bitty pushes the door to the lounge open slowly. Kent’s face is buried in his hoodie. His heart clenches at bit at the sight. He isn’t sure he’ll ever get over rawness of Kent being vulnerable, of allowing himself to feel pain.

“Here you go sir,” Bitty says with the cheeriest voice he can muster.

Kent sits up slowly. He readjusts the couch cushion so he can rest against the corner of the couch. He takes the pie with a soft smile.

“Thanks,” Kent says quietly. “You didn’t have to drag Jack along.”

“I didn’t,” Bitty admits.

Jack steps caustional around Bitty, the fanny pack in full view. Kent’s eyes go wide the second Jack puts it down on his lap. Kent’s mouth hangs slightly. Bitty thinks he’s caught between swallowing and gasping. All of the air has been knocked out of the room.

“You kept it,” Kent whispers in disbelief.

“Of course I did,” Jack says.

Kent laughs. It’s withered and cracked, like he’s been holding onto these feelings too long to know what to do with them. Kent licks his lips. He meets Bitty’s concerned gaze with dilated pupils. It makes Bitty’s heart stutter.

“There’s something we should talk about,” Kent says, staring at his lap.

He motions for Bitty to sit down.

“What?” Bitty asks.

Kent hands him the fanny pack. “Open it.”

Bitty complies, unzipping it almost painfully slow. There’s a couple of granola bars, a lot of tootsie rolls, some dramamine, tampons, and midol. Which, Bitty only knows what midol is because of the times he’s gone to Stop n Shop for Lardo. He can’t tell if this is some sort of prank, or he’s missing something.

“I don’t get it,” Bitty admits.

Kent swallows. “I’m trans, Bits.”

_/.\\_

A few weeks later, Bitty finds himself sitting cross legged on Kent’s bed. He’s tracing every line of tattoos he’s never knew Kent had.

“What about this one?” Bitty asks as his fingers circle one of the two water color tattoos Kent has on either side of his ribcage.

“That’s Cygnus, the swan constellation,” Kent says.

Kent’s attention is mainly on his laptop where he’s watching _When Harry Met Sally_ for about the fifth time this season.

“What’s it for?”

“Goose,” Kent says, swallowing. “His sister was in love with astronomy. He’s got something like it on his shoulder.”

“Yea, I know which one you’re talking about,” Bitty says with a hum. “What about the other one?”

“Eridanus, the celestial river,” Kent says with a shrug. “I asked Johnny what he wanted his tattoo to be and he said he wanted to match Goose’s. He picked the constellation and I just went with it.”

“His tattoo?”

“Yea, everyone leaves their mark on us right? I just like mine to be visible.”

“I see,” Bitty says.

He knows what most of the tattoos are for. The watercolor skyline is for his sister. The dahlias and rosary is for his mom and abuela. The watercolor bass for Jeff, and the carnations next to it for Parker. The sunflowers underneath a night sky at the base of his neck is for Perry. Two Stanley Cups with Smithy and West’s initials on them.

Kent has a huge tattoo over his chest. It’s a black and white design of the desert with a coyote at the center. It makes sense for him, a lonely creature who can adapt to the hottest of desert and the largest of cities.

Bitty has to stop himself from kissing every tattoo. Because they’re beautiful and for every second of pain it took to make them, Kent was expressing years of love and adoration. He caresses the maple leaf on the back of Kent’s right shoulder. It has a heart punched out of it.

“This is Jack’s isn’t it?” he asks quietly.

Kent doesn’t look at him, but he catches the sight of his ears going bright red.

“Yea,” Kent says. “It was my first. I got it when Goose got his constellation. He didn’t get a say.”

Bitty hums. He imagines a teenager trying to commemorate a part of his life he wasn’t sure he’d get back. Almost like honoring the dead.

“Why didn’t you cover up your surgery scars?” Bitty muses out loud.

“Because I chose them,” Kent says, wringing his hands. “I never wanna forget that y’know? Choosing happiness for myself over what other people think.”

Bitty swallows thickly. He hugs Kent tightly from behind, ignoring the way Kent gasps slightly.

“That makes perfect sense,” Bitty says.

After a moment, he asks, “What's mine gonna be?”

Kent chuckles. “Whatever you want, Bits.”

 _I hope you’re happy now,_ he doesn’t say. _I want to make you as happy as you make everyone else._

_/.\\_

“I can’t find her anywhere,” Bitty tells Kent over the phone.

He used his spare key to get in, and then spent the last half an hour which should’ve been focused on filming, looking for Kit.

“Check the bathroom on the first floor,” Kent says.

Bitty scowls. “Which one?”

“The half bath by the kitchen,” he says with that strained voice that Bitty knows means he’s pretending to be patient.

Bitty can just imagine the way he’s snapping a rubber band against his wrist to keep himself under wraps. He swears the longer Kent’s away from his cat, the more on edge he gets.

He opens the door to the bathroom. “Nope not there”

“Did you check under the sink?” Kent asks.

“Under the—you’re kidding me right?”   

“The maids go in on Tuesdays. Sometimes they forget to close shit,” he explains.

“Well, alright I’ll check,” Bitty says with a sigh.

Opening the cabinet, he sees nothing at first. He bends down to get a better look. Kit is napping next to the bag of toilet paper rolls.

“Found her,” Bitty says.

“Wanna be my bestest friend ever?”

“I’m already your best friend,” Bitty deadpans.

“I heard that!” Perry shouts on Kent’s end

Bitty winces. “You could’ve told me I’m on speakerphone.”

“You’re not, my phone’s fucking loud and we’re watching say Project Runway in their room,” Kent says.

“Hockey players and their rituals,” Bitty mutters

“Hey, you were one of us once,” he chirps.

“Feels like a lifetime ago.”

He hears Perry mutter something to Kent. Kent snickers

“What was that?” Bitty asks.

“Nothing,” Kent says. He’s terrible at concealing joy.

Bitty thinks that comes from not being used to dealing with it. He mentally slaps himself. Even when he’d give the world to make Kent happy, there will probably always be a part of him that digs into people’s spines when he’s fed up. He barely got any sleep last night and the Aces lost against Houston.

“Honey, just tell me what you want,” he says.

Bitty bites his lip, cringing that he can't stop using terms of endearment with Kent. Even though he probably should. It creates this lump in his throat that he can’t fully comprehend.

“Can you grab her and put her in her room?”

“Kent—”

“I know you don’t like her, but the sitter won’t be there to feed her again until late,” Kent pleads quickly. “She could get lost.”

“I don’t know why you pay for a cat sitter anyway,” Bitty says.

Kent snorts. “Because you’d feed her?”

“Maybe I would if you asked me,” he says in a pleasant tone.

“Hey Bits?”

Bitty’s thankful that no one can see the broad smile he has from hearing Kent say his name.

“Yes?”

“Would you feed my cat until we get home on Thursday?” Kent asks.

“Well I don’t, sir, I have a very busy schedule…”

He hears a muffled groan. “You’re killing me here Bits.”

“...well perhaps I could do this for you,” Bitty teases. “On a trial basis.”   

Kent chuckles. Bitty pretends it doesn’t warm every inch of his body. Like Kent isn’t someone he wants to see every single morning, no matter how tired and cranky he is. He ignores the way he breathes a little easier when Kent rests his head on Bitty’s shoulder. It’ really becoming a problem. He doesn’t remember the last time he was so attached to someone who isn’t Jack.

“Thanks Bits, I owe you one,” Kent says.

“You owe me a lot more than that,” he chirps.

“Yea,” Kent’s voice glides smoother than an angel whispering “I really do.”

_/.\\_

It’s a week before trade deadlines. No one can find Jack anywhere.

“If we don’t find him in the next twenty minutes, I’m scratching him from the game,” Kellen says.

Kent sighs. Because honestly, he doesn’t care if they have to shift lines around. That’s part of the gig. But he has a hunch why Jack’s AWOL. He can bet it will just make everything worse if Jack gets scratched tonight.

“I’ll go find him,” Kent says.

Kellen gives him a stern gaze. “Twenty minutes, or I’m scratching you too.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says before running out of the locker room.

He goes to the docks, no one’s there. He runs to equipment room in the basement, still nothing. Kent starts looking through every dark hallway in the basement. He finally finds Jack sitting on an old wooden crate. His hands clenched and shaking as he stares at them.

Kent takes a deep breath. He’s talked so many players through anxiety attacks. He can do it again. He’s got it down to an art.

“Hey,” he says quietly as he approaches Jack.

Jack doesn’t respond. Kent sits on the floor in front of him, careful not to touch him yet.

“Can you hear me?”

“Yea,” Jack says quietly.

“How are you feeling?”

“Why do you care?” Jack asks tersely.

Kent takes a deep breath. He gets it now, the way Jack closes up on himself when he thinks he’s protecting everyone else.

“Because I care about you, alright?” Kent says softly. “And so does Bitty. And so does Shits, Lardo...your parents, the rest of your college team, the fucking Falconers still love you to death…”

Kent chuckles softly. “Fuck, Perry, Carter and Johnny care about you a whole fucking lot. So does Jeff.”

He sees Jack’s lip twitch slightly. A little more air fills his lungs. He’s onto something.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Kent says. “You can call your therapist or I can drive you home to see Bits. Or we can just sit here a while. Whatever makes you feel better.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t do or say anything for a while. Kent checks his phone after a while. The game’s already started. He mentally shrugs. One game won’t kill them.

“What if they trade me?” Jack says finally.

 _There it is_ , Kent thinks. He cracks his neck, leaning more of his weight against the concrete wall.

“They won’t,” he says. “They’re making a fuckton of money off us. Plus, we’re going all the way this year.”

“But—”

“You should call your agent,” Kent says. “Have them renegotiate your contract with a no trade clause. If it’ll make you feel better.”

Jack doesn’t respond. After a minute or so, he stands up. Kent thinks he’s going to storm away or something. But instead, he sits down next to Kent, putting his head on Kent’s shoulder. Out of habit, Kent winds an arm around Jack’s waist.

“You deserve to be on this team,” Kent says quietly. “It’s your team.”

“No, it’s your team,” Jack says.

“It’s _our_ team,” Kent remedies. “It’s got the entire story of us in it, right?”

“Yea,” he agrees with a hum.

They sit there for awhile. Kent closes his eyes, focusing on the sound of Jack’s breath. He feels something wet against his cheek. He’ll never get over the relief of knowing Jack’s alive, he thinks.   

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks.

Kent stiffens. “No—” He stops himself. “I’m just—glad you can talk about this stuff. And I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“You couldn’t always talk about this stuff...That’s partly my fault.”

Jack sits up, hugging Kent to his chest. Kent shivers, clutching him tightly.

“I’m sorry too,” Jack murmurs.

“For what?”

“You did everything you could,” he says. “It wasn’t on you to save me.”

“I didn’t save you—”

“Yes you did,” Jack insists.

Kent feels his lip tremble. He buries his head in the crook of Jack’s neck. He laughs awkwardly.

“I’m here to make sure you’re ok,” Kent says.

“I’m better. You’re here.”

He grips Jack tighter. He vaguely hears footsteps in the distance. Out of habit, he starts to pull away from Jack who holds him in place. Kent swallows thickly.

“There you are,” Jeff says when he turns the corner.

Kent takes a deep breath, not sure if he’s ready for the utter disappointment on Jeff’s face. Apparently no matter how old he gets, Kent will always have a soft spot for Jack Zimmermann.

“C’mon I’m taking you guys home,” Jeff says.

He can feel Jack nodding. He feels a set of arms pull him up gently.

“Hey,” Jeff says softly. “We’re ok.”

Kent clears his throat, nodding shakily.

“We can talk about it later,” he says.

“Yea ok,” Kent says before kissing Jeff calmly.

He’s a mess. He already knows that much.

_/.\\_

Kent’s playing chicken in his pool with Ozzy, Bitty and Johnny. He’s on Johnny’s shoulders and he grips Bitty’s hands tightly, trying to push him over. The late afternoon sun beats heavily on them. One of the perks of having his own private pool is never having to worry about being outed. Well, at least now that even Bitty knows, there’s no one he could really be outed to.

“Give it up Bittle. I’ve got a decade of hockey and two Stanley Cups on you,” he chirps.

“That’s funny, I seem to recall beating someone the other day at an arm wrestling contest,” Bitty says.

“Beginner’s luck.”

Bitty snorts. “In what world is best seven out of 12 beginner’s luck?”

Johnny laughs underneath him. Kent has half a mind to kick his shoulder.

“You idiots are gonna get hurt,” Jeff shouts from the volleyball court.

“Love you too, babe,” Kent says

Jeff flips him off. Kent laughs. They’re not teenagers anymore. They don’t kiss in front of homophobes because they’re no longer anonymous rookies in a town that couldn’t give a shit about their sport. They’re adults that have been together so fucking long, Kent almost can’t remember life before Jeff. Almost. Jack is the constant reminder that there was something before Jeff; just like sometimes good things can twist and gnarl into something ugly.

Jeff is his rock and the fucking wind beneath his wings. He’s everything Kent doesn’t think he deserves. But there he is, loving Kent like it’s easy. Like they haven’t hurt each other before, and will likely do again.

He thinks that’s the difference between Jeff and Jack. Jack didn’t want to admit when things were bad. Neither did Jeff at first. But once they both got their heads out of their asses, they learned how to be honest with themselves and each other.

After all these years and so many ups and downs, they’re still together. They still have their youthful playfulness; they’re still best friends.

That’s probably the secret to every great relationship, finding a way to stay best friends. Sexual tension and romantic thrills can rise and wane with the changing of the seasons. But honest commitment and trust are fucking hard to come by in Kent’s book. He can count the number of people he trusts. They’re few in number and they stick together and he loves each and every one of them—like his mom and Izzy, Smithy and West, Carter and Ozzy, Jeff and Parker, Jack and Bi—

He feels himself blush as he notices the triumphant smirk on Bitty’s face.

“What?”

“You’re ticklish,” Bitty points out

He looks down at his exposed armpits. Kent glares at him.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he hisses.

Bitty does. Kent falls over within a few seconds of Bitty touching his armpit.

The pool water is tepid enough to send chills through Kent as he crashes underneath the surface. It feels like a cruel reality check. He thought he had his life under control. He was so proud of himself for keeping his distance from Jack.

When he rises to the surface, the first thing he does is find Bitty’s smile from where Johnny’s splashing him. He gets an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He swims to the edge of the pool, pushing himself out. He practically chokes on air as he walks to the nearest patio chair, grabbing a towel.

He looks back at Bitty. He can’t take his eyes off Bitty’s perfect smile, his deep brown eyes, his muscular arms that glisten in the sun—  

 **“** Fuck,” Kent whispers.

“What?” Jeff asks.

“I’m in love with Bitty.”

Jeff snorts. “Brand new information.”

Kent stares at him in horror. Has he really been that obvious to everyone but himself? Does Bitty know? Is he weirded out that Kent’s totally gone for him?

Jeff balks at him. “You’re serious?”

“I didn’t know,” he admits quietly.

Jeff hugs him fiercely.

“Should we talk about it?” Jeff asks.

“What’s there to talk about,” he says.

Jeff hums in disappointment. “Ok so not yet.”

“Sorry—”

“I’m here for you, alright?” he says, interrupting Kent. “Don’t forget that.”

Kent doesn’t know what are the odds of catching lightning in a bottle. But somehow, he got two Cups, his family, his friends, and Jeff.

He must’ve done something right along the way.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Kent says, kissing Jeff’s temple.

_/.\\_

It’s the middle of the second round of the playoffs. The Aces need one more game to win. Jack comes home and spends the better part of the night kissing Bitty languidly. Bitty for his part massages his tense shoulders and rubs his aching back. Jack groans in contentment at every subtle touch. Bitty worships his body like a temple.

Sweet kisses melt into quiet strokes and murmured praises. The next thing Bitty knows, they’re sweating in a tangle of limbs, coming down from mutual orgasms. He loves Jack. He loves being with Jack. Jack is one of the only men he’s felt attraction to.

When he was younger, he used that as an excuse to pretend that he wasn’t gay. Like maybe his crush on Tommy Nelson was just deep admiration he had for a best friend. At some point, he assumed his inability to be attracted to people stemmed from trauma. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. He was past the point of caring. All he knows is that it took a class on invisible queer identities his senior year of college to find a name for something he’d been experiencing his entire life.

He doesn’t get wet dreams often, if ever at all. He falls asleep with Jack cradled against his chest.

His dreams take him to a carnival by the sea. He doesn’t recognize anyone there. He meets someone with a bright smile who’s face is mostly obscured with a blur, like a photo lens. Bitty follows them around as they show him all their favorite places. The person takes them to a city with giant skyscrapers and people as far as the eye can see.

They guide Bitty, gently pulling him along as they weave through pedestrians. The person saves him more than once from getting run over by a bike or carriage. They take him to a room above a shop nestled on a quiet street. They kiss Bitty softly.

“You ok?” they ask.

He blushes. “Of course, baby. You’re here.”

Bitty hears a chuckle that’s brighter than the sun. It sends tingles down his spine. His heart thrums as they push him down on the bed. Bitty grabs them gently by the ass, pulling them down on top of him.

They groan, laughing quietly. Bitty hasn’t felt this hard and needy in a long time. Not since he and Jack fooled around for the first time in the back of his truck.

He reaches down to unbutton their jeans. He puts a hand where he expects a dick to be. Instead, he finds something smaller.

“It’s still a dick, babe,” the person says as if reading his mind.

Bitty hums in agreement, rubbing it in slow circular motions.

Kent groans—  

 

Bitty jolts awake. The bedroom is pitch black. He’s panting as his eyes adjust. Jack is snoring heavily next to him. Bitty sighs, taking a deep breath. He creeps out of the bedroom quietly. He uses the bathroom in the basement to take a shower.

Bitty strokes the head of his dick firmly. He tries to think of Jack, but then his mind wanders to Kent. Then his mind wanders to Jack fucking Kent.

He comes with a sharp cry. He slowly sinks to his knees. Despite the hot water pounding against his back, he shivers.

He isn’t a cheater. He would never do that to Jack. He wouldn’t—

Stop loving Jack for Kent. And he’s _gay_. Well, he’s homoromantic demisexual... as far as anyone’s concerned he’s gay.

He groans, rubbing his temple viscously. He rests his head against the wall of the shower.

He doesn’t know if he can accept polyamory. But for the first time ever, he’s starting to see the appeal.

_/.\\_

Bitty rings the doorbell for Perry’s house the next day. He shifts awkwardly as Perry asks him if he wants to come in. He nods tensely, following them to the living where they’re practicing their guitar. He sits on the opposite side of their brown leather couch.

“Can we talk?” Bitty asks.

Because Perry is patient and understanding, the don’t make a corny chirp about already talking. “Yea what’s up?”

Bitty wrings his hands. “Uh, so—” he stops before he gets too ahead of himself, he pulls out his phone.   

“I had some questions about some stuff I don’t know a whole lot about,” Bitty says, “and I know we’re not close but you seemed like the best person to go to?”

Perry nods, persing their lip. “Alright, que honda?”

Bitty takes a deep breath, looking past them at a picture of the Whirlpool Galaxy. One time, Perry told him that everyone sees what they want in the Whirpool. Some people see a scientific marvel, other people see a cross in its center. Goose sees his sister smiling back at him. There wasn’t really a wrong answer, they said. Because the meaning people put into it will always be subjective, but no less important. Bitty thinks that’s proof that Perry is one of the most empathetic and kind people he knows. Even if they’re not exactly close.

“How do you know you’re attracted to more than one gender?” he asks.

“Uh,” Perry looks up from their guitar, frowning. “How do you know you’re only attracted to men?”

“See that’s the problem,” Bitty admits. “I’m not.”

Perry gives him a confused but patient smile.

“Well I am, but not _all_ the time,” he rambles. “I’m demisexual alright?”

“Ok so you’re still interested in men, though?”

“Right, I am…” Bitty sighs, “but what if one time I wasn’t purely interested in just men?”

“Well, labels are labels,” Perry says carefully. “People change and sexuality is fluid...so is gender.”

“Alright, so—what if someone I’m interested in changes their gender?”

Perry chuckles. “You don’t ask easy questions.”

He blushes. “I’m sorry.”

They give him a reassuring smile. “Maybe you could just—ask me what you really want to know?”

Bitty swallows. “What if I had feelings for a man who doesn’t have a penis? And someday he decides that he isn’t a _he_ anymore?”

Perry stares at him. He averts his gaze, fixating on the pattern of the crimson area rug. The pattern is intricate in a light cream shade. Bitty can almost see it swirling underneath his feet, threatening to open up and swallow him whole. He glances back up at Perry, who’s still staring at him like they aren’t sure if they want to help or hurt hims.  

“I guess that’s your decision whether you’d still have feelings for him or not,” Perry says in a quiet, grave tone.

Bitty nods

“But he’d still be the same person,” they add. “Maybe you should think about looking at the whole person before you start worrying that someone might take away your gay card.”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“No I get it,” Perry interrupts. “I’m from the South too remember? I get it.”

“Get what?”

“Feeling like you can only be in or out,” they explain, “feeling like there’s nothing between gay and straight.”

Bitty swallows thickly. Perry’s glare is no less intense. Their eyes are like swirling, charred lava, dying to incinerate Bitty where he sits.

“I can barely stand to say I’m ace,” he says, clenching his fists tightly. His mouth tenses slightly into something like a snarl.

“People look at you like you’ve grown a second head. They say ‘asexual? Like a starfish?’ or ‘everyone feels that way after you’re with someone for a while’ or ‘you just need to dump him and get laid’.”

Perry nods. “You know what I hear a lot?”

“No, what?”

“‘So you’re a woman’ or ‘pronouns shouldn’t matter’ or ‘just pick already’.” Perry sighs. “But that’s assuming they weren’t outwardly racist enough for me to want to talk to them period.”

He blushes, suddenly very aware of the fact that the majority of Jack’s close teammates aren’t white. He’s not the worst person ever, but he did grow up in the South. There were some things that Bitty would never understand and couldn’t be right about. It’s a fact that he’s slowly getting used to.

“That’s awful,” Bitty says finally.

“It’s life,” they brush off, “People don’t like change. They try to make their discomfort your fault.”

Bitty swallows thickly. He can relate to that too well.

Perry shakes their head. “Can I offer you some advice?”

“Sure,” Bitty says quietly.

“Don’t tell Kent you love him unless you’re really sure,” they say.

Bitty gapes. “That’s not—”

“Don’t lie to me, Bittle,” Perry snaps.

Bitty looks away, blushing. Perry stands up, patting his shoulder.

“He’s too good for you,” they say simply.

He’s never been told that about someone. “What makes you say that?”

“Kent wants to give everyone the world,” Perry says. “You and Jack are the only people selfish enough to ask for it.”

He’d never thought of it like that. He remembers almost a year ago when he called Kent in the middle of the night, desperate to make sure he was ok. But then he made Kent tell him everything about Jack’s overdose, even when it felt like he should’ve made him stop. He never bothered to ask if he was ok after that. He wonders how often does Kent allow himself to not be ok, to take other people for granted like they take him.

“I would give him the world,” Bitty says quietly. “I would rip out my heart, I think.”

Perry snorts. “You say that now. Wait until he splits on you.”

Bitty clenches his jaw tightly. He can’t argue with that; he doesn’t know how.

_/.\\_

The day before the second game of the finals is tense. Bitty can feel the tension throughout the entire block. Perry’s lying in their hammock in the backyard. Goose is playing a first person shooter in his living room with Carter. Ozzy’s watching quietly, rocking back and forth, getting up occasionally to go stim more loudly.

Next door, Kent’s swimming in his pool, going around in circles for hours. Jeff’s in the living room watching Die Hard, playing his bass furiously while Johnny smokes weed next to him. Across the street, Jack is reading quietly while Bitty bakes. He’s baking so much that he’s using everyone else’s ovens too. That’s his cover story anyway. It’s how he’s justifying checking on everyone to make sure no fights break out.

They haven’t been this close to the Cup in a few years. They’re a ball of nerves and they all seem to be giving each other space. Too much space in Bitty’s opinion.

He comes back from putting a batch of cookies on Goose’s cooling rack when Jack looks up from his book. Normally, Jack would have a soft smile on his face, happy to see Bitty’s keeping himself busy while everyone else is caught up in their own problems.

But for the last few weeks things have been off with them. There’s a itch boiling under his skin that he hasn’t felt in a while. Not since the last time he thought Jack should leave him to concentrate on hockey.

Something’s bound to break. Jack’s stony expression tells Bitty it’ll happen soon enough. He heaves a breath, ignoring Jack’s glare as he goes back to the kitchen. He starts working on an apple pie for Ozzy. He starts chopping neat slices.

Bitty tries to clear his mind for precision's sake. He’s not thinking about the way Jack looks after Kent gets checked. He’s not thinking about how tightly he, Jeff, and Kent hug during cellies. He’s most certainly not thinking about Kent’s lips perked up into a small grin. Or the way Kent’s hair flies when it’s early in the morning and it’s frizzier than a poodle.

He doesn’t think about about the way Kent’s lips pucker perfectly around a water bottle. He doesn’t think about how sometimes the worry lines in Jack’s forehead smooth out whenever he hears Kent shout. He doesn’t think about how Jeff looks between Kent and Jack as if he’s waiting for something to happen.

He doesn’t think about how he and Jack haven’t had sex since he had that dream about Kent. Which normally wouldn’t matter, Bitty can go for long stretches of time on nothing more than the occasional masturbation session in the shower. Except he keeps having to sneak downstairs in the middle of the night to relieve himself. He can’t stop having dreams about Kent...and Jack...and Jack and Kent doing things to each other that shouldn’t turn Bitty on.  

Bitty doesn’t think about the fact that Kent has a cunt. Because it shouldn’t matter. Because it probably doesn’t matter. Since Jack chose Bitty and Samwell over Kent and Las Vegas.

His brows furrow. Only he didn’t. He went to Vegas. He almost gave up on his degree, and his old life for _Kent_.

_clink_

Bitty yowls in pain. He looks down, seeing he’s nicked his index finger with the knife. It’s a stupid, rookie mistake that he never would make under normal circumstances—

“Bits, are you alright?” Jack asks from the the living room

“I’m fine,” he grunts.

Jack hums, unimpressed. Bitty rolls his eyes, scurrying to the sink before more blood can drip on top of the apples, ruining them.

He puts the water too high, flinching as it makes contact with his finger. Jack’s behind him in an instant.

“What happened?”   

“I cut myself on accident,” Bitty says.

“What? How?”

“I just said it was an accident Jack Laurent,” he hisses.

“I was just asking—”

“Well if you had been listening instead of asking—”

“I was worried! I’m still worried,” Jack snaps.

“Well don’t, go back to your book I’m fine,” he says in the most casual tone he can muster, which isn’t saying much.

Jack clenches his fists before starting to pace. He runs his hands through his hair furiously. Bitty hates starting conflicts with Jack, especially when he knows it’s not really about their relationship. But they both have a tendency to blow things out of proportion when one of them thinks they’re right. They sink their claws into each other until they’re bloody and raw. They’re both stubborn and proud. Bitty has no interest in resolving this when his temper has been boiling underneath the surface for day.

“You’re being impossible,” Jack says.

“Maybe if you spent more time worrying about your PK than my sour mood, y’all would’ve won in five games last round.”

Jack looks at him with a mixture of uncertainty and rage. Bitty waits to see how he responds.

“Funny, I didn’t think I asked for advice from a failed NCAA captain.”

It feels like a slice in his back.

“Takes one to know one,” Bitty snaps.

“Can’t you be on my side for once?”

“What are you talking about!? I’m always on your side. I moved halfway across the country so you could play with your shitty ex boyfriend—”

“Don’t do that,” Jack cuts him off, “don’t pretend you did me any favors when you spend more time gawking at him—”   

“I have never gawked—”

“You’re in love with him, admit it,” Jack yells.

Bitty wants to howl and throw something across the room.

Maybe a pot or a glass. Maybe it’ll be so loud that they’ll hear it across the street. Maybe Kent will come and break up their argument. Then again, he probably shouldn’t see them like this.

“You first!” Bitty screams.

“No,” Jack says firmly.

“Why not? it’s true.”

“Because you weren’t supposed to know!”

“I’m not an idiot Jack! You’d leave me in a second for him!”

Jack groans, clutching his head in his hands. “I would never do that. I love you.”

Bitty screams. “Then why are we fighting?”

Jack blinks. He takes a long look at Bitty’s hand, still under the scalding water. He shuts the faucet off. Bitty doesn’t protest. Jack sighs, sagging against the counter as he closes his eyes.

This is what they do. They sink their claws into each other about things that don’t matter. So they can approach the big things like reasonable adults. So they wear each other down instead of other people. So no one else knows how cruel they can be. So no one else has to be hurt in their crossfire.

It’s certainly not the healthiest thing they do, but it works for them.

“You love him,” Jack says softly.

Bitty clears his throat. “Yea, and so do you.”

Jack laughs. It’s icy and terse. It feels broken like an anxiety attack he never really saw. Yet timid like a man who was willing to drop his life for someone who kept dropping everything for him, but couldn’t make it stick. It reminds Bitty that they’ve had a million fights before this that didn’t have half the tangle of mixed emotions and uncertainty this one does. He laughs too

“We’re a mess,” he says wetly, wiping at his eyes.

“Yea,” Jack agrees.

Their eyes meet. Blue, lopsided eyes with the barest of lines forming around the edges. Bitty’s been staring into them for so long, he thinks they should’ve lost meaning by now. But every time they lose their way, they break a new piece. They melt the things that don’t quite fit into something new. They don’t look like a scarred freshman and his disgruntled captain anymore. They’re new people. They built each other up with new experiences and people. They’re a quilt still getting sewn. They don’t have everything figured out, but they’re getting there.

“We should talk,” Jack says finally.

Bitty smiles. “I think we should.”    

_/.\\_

When they win their third Stanley Cup, the first thing Kent does is hug the living shit out of Jeff. He has to stop himself from kissing him in front of Kellen and the world.

She’d probably forgive him for outing himself. Probably.

Someone crashes into him not a second later. He expects it to be Johnny, but it’s Jack. Kent slips out of Jeff’s arms to hold Jack tightly.

“You did it,” Kent murmurs encouragingly.

Jack shakes his head, laughing happier than Kent’s heard in years. “ _We_ did it, all of us.”

Kent cries for a while after that. He lets Bitty wipe away his tears once family is allowed on the ice.

“You did amazing out there,” Bitty says to him. “They couldn’t have done it without you.”

Kent laughs, trying hard to believe him.

_/.\\_

Kent’s half asleep on Bitty’s shoulder as they longue by his pool. It’s taking every last shred of Bitty’s will power not to kiss him here and now. He’s talked with Jack about approaching Kent, eventually. Maybe when the summer’s over and everything’s a bit more settled.

Or maybe he and Jack will keep playing chicken, hopping the other one makes a move first.

“So what’re you doing this summer?” Kent mumbles into his collar bone.

Bitty smirks. “You know what I’m up to. More festivals, a few guests spots on some other vloggers’ channels. Might pick up another sponsor.”

“Is that all?” chirps.

“Well what are you up to that’s so exciting, sir?”

Kent grins, burying his face in Bitty’s neck. Which is both nice, and ensures that he won’t see the deep blush blooming across Bitty’s face.

“I love it when you call me sir,” Kent says. “Makes me feel legit.”

Bitty wraps his arms tightly around Kent’s shoulders, feeling terrible that he ever thought of Kent as anything less than a man.

“I love you, honey,” Bitty says.

And because Kent never takes people caring for him at face value he says, “Duh, I love you too.”   

Bitty wonders if it’s a defensive mechanism or if Kent thinks he just means platonically. Because he’s selfish, Bitty decides to push a little.

“You’ll come see us out in LA won’t you?”

Kent stiffens for a moment, before squeezing Bitty tightly. “Of course, wherever or whenever. I here for you, Bits.”

Bitty has to stop himself from screaming in frustration. He inhales the smell of Kent’s favorite detangling cream. He wonders if Kent knows how much he would give to make him happy. He wonders if Kent realizes how gone Bitty is for him.

How Bitty never even had a chance.

_/.\\_

Kent chugs the rest of his Long Island. He wipes he mouth against his knuckles, pressing hard enough to feel where it’ll bruise in the morning. The music blasting from the outdoor surround system is strong enough that it could probably stop his heart. Or restart it.

It makes no difference considering how dead he feels inside.

He knows that he invited Jack here. He is painfully aware of the fact that he was under no obligation to invite his ex and his ex’s new boyfriend to his birthday party. It’s not like this fucking shit show is for him anyway. It’s mostly an excuse for Ozzy to pull out the best songs from last summer and Carter to play bartender for a night.

The pool is as packed as the deck...and the living room, upstairs balcony, half the bedrooms, the game room in the basement, the fire pit, and the volleyball court that’s probably being used for something illegal. Basically, everyone at this party but him is having a good time. Well him, and—  

“Bits!” Lardo shouts from the volleyball court. “Get your ass over here and help me with these goons!”

Eric Fucking Bittle pulls away from making out with Jack, he runs around the pool as if he’s never heard of cracking a skull open in the pool. If anyone could survive that, it’d probably be him. The guy is like a cockroach. If cockroaches were two inches smaller than Kent, blonde, and had perfectly kissable lips.

Once upon a time, Kent would’ve done anything to put Bitty on a one way flight to Abu Dhabi and never hear from him again. That was of course before Jack got traded to the Aces. Before he and Bitty begrudgingly moved halfway across the country to Kent’s personal purgatory. Before Kent got to know Bitty—passive aggressive sarcasm and all.   

But it was more than just meeting someone who can bite as hard as he barks. It’s the way Bitty licks his lips like he could devour anyone in his wake. It’s the way his smile can say a hundred different things based on how much teeth he’s showing. It’s the banter that makes Kent feel alive like he hasn’t in years.

And really, because he’s still learning not to hate himself—it’s the fact that he knows he can never have Bitty that makes him completely irresistible.

Kent shakes his head, putting his drink out for Carter to refill.

“Fine,” Carter groans. “But I’m cutting you off after this.”

“One’s all I need,” Kent swears.

He’s not thinking about the bottle of Jack under his bed. But because that was his third Long Island and here comes his fourth, he can’t stop from giggling at the idea of drinking Jack Zimmermann. Because up until last week, Kent thought the most toxic thing he could do was think of Jack.

Bitty yelps on the other side of the yard, proving Kent once again wrong.

“On second thought, get me a shot too.”

Carter glares at him.

“Please,” he begs in his most pathetically sober voice possible. “It’s my birthday.”

Carter doesn’t take the bait. Kent clenches his fist until they start shaking. He finishes the drink in his hand, sad that it’s in a solo cup so he won’t be able to feel shards of glass in his hand when he smashes it against the bartop. He smashes his palm a little. It doesn’t hurt as much as he wants, but it’s good enough for now.

He thinks he’ll go masturbate and drink himself to sleep. That’ll be better than most of his last ten birthdays combined.

Except a hand catches his as he walks into the house.

He stops himself from flinching. He knows those calloused, warm hands by heart. He knows every knuckle and the trace of every line. He thinks if people could taste like something, Bitty’s stubble would taste like peach fuzz.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bitty says loud enough for him to hear over the music.

Kent turns slowly enough to school his features before Bitty can see them. He gives a languid and pleasant smirk, the kind that says he knows where this conversation is going. Like maybe if Bitty plays along, all his wildest dreams will come true. Really Kent doesn’t, he’s just hoping to leave with most of his dignity intact.

“I was headed upstairs—maybe you and the bionic man back there wanna join me?”

Bitty crosses his arms. “Hardy har har.”

He has to stop himself from wincing. Hoping that Bitty doesn’t see right through him and how pathetically thin his bravado is.

Kent shrugs. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“I can and I will,” Bitty mutters. “Now if you think you’re gonna go up there to sulk—”

“I’m not going to _sulk_.” Fuck this asshole knows Kent better than he thought.  

“—Without giving me that birthday dance you promised, then you’re sorely mistaken, sir,”  Bitty says.    

Kent groans, allowing himself to be pulled outside. As if he hasn’t been waiting for this all day. As if it weren’t the only reason he’d even let this party go on for as long as it has. As if the feeling of his head nestled against Bitty’s shoulder, their thighs so close they could collapse into each other, isn’t the only thing that will be on his mind for days to come. Weeks even.

As if Bitty playfully chirp-flirting with him because they’re drunk and it’s Kent’s birthday won’t be the image that he falls asleep with tonight. Or what he mulls over the next time Bitty complains about Jack.

Because there isn’t a power on heaven or Earth that would stop Kent from giving Bitty the world, he’ll keep his mouth shut. In a few months when the season starts, he’ll keep his eye on Jack and make sure nothing happens to him for Bitty’s sake. When they’re on a losing streak and Jack gets a little too close-minded about their playoff prospects, Kent will be in the kitchen baking with Bitty. Not to make Jack feel better, but to take Bitty’s mind off the stress of it. He’ll dance with Bitty until he smiles so brightly that he can go back to Jack’s arms and feel like no one will ever break them apart.

He’ll do that again and again until his feet are sore and his heart is so bruised that it’ll want to give out. And when Jack’s contract expires in three years and he signs with another team, which he will, Kent will help Bitty pack up everything from the life they had in Vegas and see him off like an old friend.

Maybe he’ll steal an old Samwell sweatshirt for good measure.

“I love you so much,” Bitty murmurs into his ear. “You’re a good friend y’know?”

Kent chuckles. It’s hollow but Bitty’s too drunk to notice.

“You make it easy,” Kent says.

 _I would do anything to make you happy_ , he doesn’t say. _I would tear out my heart. I would come out to the world. I would have your fucking baby._

Bitty grinds a little closer, caressing the inner part of Kent’s thigh. Kent chuckles. He knows it’s all in good fun. In the morning he won’t love Bitty nearly as much. In the morning he might tell his therapist everything, or he might tell her nothing and pretend like everything’s fantastic.

For now, it’s just two friends having a good time.

_/.\\_

Bitty wakes up the morning after Kent’s 29th birthday feeling more hung over than he has in years. His stomach is heavier than lead. He can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or from how off the night felt. He was trying too hard. He was caught between wanting to be a good friend, and barely restraining himself from keeping his mouth off Kent.

Dread hikes up through his mouth. He has to untangle himself from Jack’s arms, running to the bathroom. Maybe it’s just the alcohol.

He can’t remember how much he had the night before, but he knows Kent had more than him. Bitty takes an aspirin before going across the street to check on him.

Jeff answers the door with a murderous scowl. “What the fuck did you do?”

Bitty rubs his temple. “What do you mean ‘what did I do’? I just got here, Jeffrey.”

“Kent’s upstairs, packing,” he hisses. “I had to talk him _out_ of buying a one way ticket to _New Zealand_.”

Bitty isn’t awake enough for this.

“Why?”

“You tell me, Bittle.” Jeff crosses his arms. “You’re the one who said you’d keep a fucking eye on him yesterday.”

“Things might’ve gotten a bit out of hand—”

“He drank a fifth of vodka!”

“I didn’t give it to him!” Bitty snaps.

“What part of ‘are you sure, he might over drink’ did you not take fucking seriously?!”

“All of it!” Bitty shouts. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think—”

“I know.” He jerks his head toward the stairs, letting Bitty come in. “Go fix your mess.”

Climbing up the stairs is one of the hardest things he’s done in a while. He can hear Kent narrating Jack’s overdose in the back of his mind. He doesn’t yell, nor make assumptions. He tells himself Kent will be fine. Because he has to.

Kent doesn’t notice when he slips into the walk-in closet of the master bedroom. He’s hunched over a suitcase, packing furiously. Kent’s hair is more disheveled than normal. His face looks bitter and worn. His eyes are darker than Bitty’s at the moment. He barely looks like his Kent who spent most of the last two weeks with the broadest smile on his face.

Bitty thinks he looks more like the kid who found his best friend half dead on a bathroom floor than anything. He thinks this is Kent when he’s pent up in his own mind.

There’s something so distant, yet familiar, about the tremble in his hands and the tightness on his face. It almost feels like looking in a mirror. Bitty feels thirteen again, watching another kid cower in the corner, hopping maybe they’ll be friends at some point (they weren’t, because children are cruel and why band together when everyone could throw him under the bus?).

Bitty swallows thickly, blinking some tears out of his eyes. Trauma is something he and Kent will always have in common. It’s a cross they both bear. But he thinks they could carry it together. Maybe.   

“What are you doing?” he asks.

Kent tenses, not looking at Bitty. “Going home for a few weeks.”

“I thought you were coming to LA with us,” Bitty says.

“Family emergency,” Kent lies through his teeth.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Kent says tersely.

“Need a hug?”

“No.”

“Is there—”

“Jesus fuck, Bittle, I don’t need your fucking pity,” Kent yells, his voice pitching slightly. “Go back to your perfect boyfriend and leave me the fuck alone.”

“I just want to talk—”  

“Why? Is the internet’s twink posterboy hemorrhaging for followers so he has to pretend to give two fucks about me? Aren’t you a fucking saint.”

Splitting, a word that Bitty half understood until this moment. Kent’s lashing out, trying to push Bitty away. This is what Perry meant about not confessing to him yet. Because this is what Kent does when thinks he’s backed into a corner, he claws his way out. It hurts, Bitty thinks. But he knows better than to play this game when it feels like everything’s on the line.

Bitty snickers to get some of his rage out.

“You honestly think that’s enough to push me away?” Bitty asks. “You think Jack hasn’t said worse to me? That I haven’t said worse to Jack about him? About you? Baby, you’re just too cute.”

Kent winces. Something in his face contorts for a half a second. It’s a glint that looks half like relief and then resignated confusion.  

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Kent says.

“To talk—”   

“You can leave a message with my publicist,” he says, cutting Bitty off. “Or DM me on Twitter. That’s what everyone else does.”

“I’m not everyone else,” Bitty insists emphatically.

Kent sighs, scrubbing his face. “Just leave.”

“Not until we talk,” he says.

“About what!?” Kent shouts.

“About what’s got your head up your ass.”

“Nothing ok? I’m fine.”

“I’m not stupid, sir,”

Kent crumples up the shirt he’s currently folding, throwing it violently against the floor. He falls back against the wall, sliding down slowly. He buries his face between his knees and chest. He doesn’t move for a minute, and then two. Finally, Bitty can make out the sound of soft sobbing.

He’s starting to understand why Perry was concerned. Kent at his best is easy to deal with. He’s the brightest star in the sky. He makes everyone feel like they’re the most valuable person on Earth. He makes people feel lucky to know him.

But the other side of the coin is just as drastic. Because he’s just as good at convincing people they mean nothing to anyone. Bitty’s seen it work too. It’s not easy, or nice. Kent inflicts wounds on other people like no other. He pushes until no one is left.

It must be lonely, Bitty thinks. Suddenly, something Kent told him nearly a year before.

_Because one time I wasn’t. And I’ve been paying for it ever since._

It occurs to him that maybe the person Kent hurt the most isn’t a friend or family member, or even Jack. It’s himself. Every time he pushes himself too hard or puts everyone else’s feelings first, he cuts himself a little deeper. It’s in the way he’s recovering from an eating disorder. And the way he missed half the 2014-15 season because he was seeking penance in a bar fight he wanted to lose. Bitty briefly wonders how much worse he would’ve been if Goose and Johnny hadn’t found him in time.

Maybe they’re not kids anymore, but Bitty can still see someone desperately trying to fix everything he thinks he broke. Perry was right, it isn’t easy loving Kent. But he can handle it.

Bitty sits down next to Kent.

“Can I hug you?” he asks quietly.

Kent is silent, but he nods.

Bitty squeezes him tightly. Kent shivers leaning his head against Bitty’s shoulder. Something warm settles in Bitty’s chest as his breathing lightens. It feels like a million butterflies or a waterfall in a hot spring. It’s floating, swirling, encompassing every inch of his skin as a thought echos in his mind.

Kenny’s safe. They’ll be ok.

Bitty thinks about the view from his old bedroom at the Haus. How every fall he would sigh wistfully as the leaves changed and dropped. A large pile would build up outside his window, as if they weren’t ready to wither on the ground. He’d watch them for a week, or month, until the pile was so large that he couldn’t enjoy the real view outside.

He thinks of fall leaves dying gracefully, but refusing to land. He thinks things are meant to change, but it’s up to people to figure out how and how quickly to make that happen. He wants the leaves to float away, hopping they’ll land perfectly. It’s a risk he wants to take.

“Ready to talk about it?” he asks.

“Not really,” Kent says.

Bitty sighs in exasperation. It feels a little impossible to get through to him. But he knows  how much worse Jack can be about avoiding issues. It’s worth it, he reminds himself. It’s so fucking worth it.

“Can you try? Promise I won’t make you if you can’t,” Bitty whispers.

“Ok,” Kent agrees. “I don’t think we should hang out anymore.”

Kent’s said meaner things to Bitty, but nothing has ever gutted him as much as this.

“Why?” he asks calmly.

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Yes I do,” Bitty insists. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. I have a right to know, Kent.”

Kent swallows. “I’m no good for you.”

“That’s not true,”

“I’m damaged good, Bits. You deserve better friends than me.”

Bitty squeezes him tighter, ignoring the ache in his throat.

“You’re my best friend, and I love you,” he says fiercely.

Kent laughs wetly. “That’s just it. I love you, like, way too fucking much.”

Bitty’s breath catches. He’s scared, but he thinks everything makes perfect sense. He feels like a perfect idiot for all the mixed signals he gave Kent the night before.

“Baby,” he says.

“Yea?”

“I love you too.”

“I just said—”

“I know what you said,” Bitty interrupts. “Now listen to what I’m saying.”

He pushes Kent up a little so he’s sitting upright. Kent stares at him hesitantly. His eyes are a warmer brown now swirling with so much emotion. Bitty smirks, thinking about leaves floating to the ground.

Bitty kisses his forehead. “Baby.” He kisses Ken’t nose. “I,” he kisses Kent’s cheek, “love,” and the other one.

His lips stop just short of Kent’s.The entire world stops. His heart skips a beat.

“You,” Bitty rasps.

He closes the gap between them, feeling Kent melt around him as he does. The first kiss is timid. Kent shutters slightly. But then he feels a tongue slip into his mouth, and arms wind around his waist. The air around them is electric. If he concentrates enough, Bitty thinks he can hear the wind picking up outside. It’s rushing past them, picking up speed and fervor as he pulls Kent into his lap.

He tastes like morning breath, whiskey, and day old conchas. Kent is messy, sharp, and unwavering. But he’s also the softest wisp of air, making everything better just by existing. He wants Kent, flaws, trauma, smugness, and all. Bitty wants to keeping kissing him and never let go.

It’s surreal to think he could have that. Multiple people who want him and love him. How could he be so lucky?

They finally break apart. Kent’s eyes are full blown grey. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly. Bitty takes it as a win.

“Wow,” Kent says.   

“Was that ok?”

“Fuck yea,” Kent whispers. “I wanna do it again.”

Bitty snorts. “Maybe we can talk first? Jeff’s worried about you.”

He sighs. “Yea, ok.”

Kent gets up, offering Bitty a hand. Bitty watches him walk toward the door of the closet, feeling inexplicably lost. Something isn’t right...yet.

“Kenny?” he says.

Kent turns around. “Yea?”

Bitty walks up to him, kissing him again firmly on the lips.

“Happy Birthday, baby,” Bitty says.

“It is now,” he says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title - lyrics from Bloom by Paper Kites 
> 
> You can listen to the playlist for this fic [on Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/palateens/playlist/6Sy5EK1I6OFKriYEqwVWOu)
> 
> You might be wondering "hmm what's next in this story?" well, to be honest, they've gotten together so if you'd like to stop reading here you can. but it's important to note that this fic isn't about them getting together. It's a story about how people who love each other can hurt each other, especially when they don't mean to/realize that's what they're doing. 
> 
> so there's one more part to come and it will end happy, I promise. 
> 
> **warning descriptions:** Kent has EDNOS and reveals to Bitty in a scene that he has multiple alarms to remind himself to eat.  
>  While Kent is on T, he occasionally deals with periods. So in the family skate sequence he works through dysphoria and cramps.  
> Kent insults Bitty at one point in an attempt to push him away. It's much more tame than Epikegster and Bitty is fine.


	3. this time of year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want pity,” Kent says.
> 
> “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow long time no see, I decided to add another chapter a) to get more content out sooner b) because the plot got bigger and it felt weird to wrap it up in one chapter? anyway, as always there's some spoilers in the endnotes for major triggers

It’s the end of August. It’s been a long summer of long conversations and travel. But it was all worth it. Bitty’s on his knees as Kent sits naked in the seat in front of him. He digs his tongue a little deeper into Kent. His boyfriend (boyfriend, that has a nice ring to it) moans quietly above him. Bitty hums, leaning up to swirl Kent’s dick in his mouth.  

Kent laughs quietly.

“What?” Bitty asks. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No,” Kent assures him. “Just happy.”

“About what, baby?”

“How I got so fucking lucky to have you,” he says.

Bitty stands up, cupping Kent’s face gently. He kisses Kent, who wraps his arms around Bitty’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I’m the one who hit the lottery, sweetcheeks,” Bitty says.

Kent’s lip twitches slightly. “Guess we’re both lucky.”

He hums in reply. “I guess we are.”

Bitty kisses him again.

Kent groans. “I’m so close, but I want you up here.”

Bitty chuckles. “Want me to use my hand?”

“Fuck, yes please.”

“I gotcha,” Bitty mutters.

He carefully puts two fingers in Kent, kissing him as he flicks Kent’s dick with his thumb. Kent’s breath gets shallow. Bitty puts his mouth on Kent’s neck, sucking harshly.

He feels Kent’s walls tense around his hand. Kent moans as he spasms. Bitty smiles softly as Kent sags against his chest.

“Your hands are fucking magic,” Kent rasps. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he says. “C’mon, let’s get ready for brunch.”

“Do you wanna do something first?”

Bitty shakes his head. “Not today, baby.”

“Ok,” Kent says simply.

Kent’s been really good about respecting his boundaries and asking if he’s ok with physical intimacy and kink. He asks questions and never pushes.

“Maybe we could make out more later?” Kent offers.

“I’d love that,” Bitty says.

“Good, because I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Impossible,” Kent chirps.

“You’re both disgusting,” Jeff shouts from outside the room. “We’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry it up.”

“Coming,” Bitty shouts.

“Uh huh,” Jeff says sarcastically.

“We’ll be out in a minute babe,” Kent shouts.

Jeff grumbles on the other side of the door.

Bitty snorts. “It’s only ten AM, and we’re already driving him crazy.”

“Yea, well, we drive Zimms a little crazy too,” Kent says.

“Fair,” Bitty says, giving him one last kiss before getting up. “Hurry up, you promised him a minute.”

Kent rolls his eyes. “I was exaggerating.”

He’s still new to having a second partner, but Bitty really loves knowing that people want him enough to talk about their feelings and ask for him. He really loves Jack and Kent.

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

_/.\\_

Bitty’s staring at his phone. He’s been doing that for an hour, maybe more. He’s supposed to be filming, or working on an order for Carter’s mom. He could be cleaning the house or reorganizing the shelves in Kent’s pantry. He could be feeding Kit or catching up on _Project Runway._

There’s a million other things he could be doing right now. But he keeps refreshing his Instagram feed. Every time he thinks maybe he could get up and do something productive, he comes up with another distraction. He feels restless yet uninterested in anything.

It’s not a particularly new feeling, but today he feels especially guilty about it.

He thinks he hears someone say something. He tries to process the sound, but his mind just feels like mush, and he’s even more frustrated.

Bitty feels something on his shoulder, he jumps. Blinking a few times, he notices Kent looking at him worriedly.

“Bits, you alright?”

“Huh? Yea..”

Kent says something. Bitty tries, and he tries to think of what Kent said. He isn’t sure if he wants to yell or just lie on Kent’s couch all day.

Bitty sighs. “Could you say that again?”

“How are you feeling?” Kent says slowly, calmly.

“I’m having a hard day,” he admits.

“Like how?”

Bitty doesn’t have any fucks left to give at the moment.

“I don’t know Kent, how would you feel if you tried for hours to focus on anything and couldn’t  for more than five fucking seconds?”

Kent smiles sadly. Bitty has half a mind to tell him to fuck off.

“What?” Bitty asks instead.

“You just described, like, a good three years of my life,” Kent says quietly.

“Oh,” Bitty says, swallowing. “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” Kent interrupts. “Can I sit?”

Bitty nods, sitting up a bit as Kent takes the seat next to him.

“Do you feel like touching right now?”

Bitty snorts. Instead of answering, he puts his head on Kent’s shoulder. He feels an arm wrap around his waist, pulling him into Kent’s side.

He breathes a little easier, inhaling deeply into Kent’s ratty old Rimouski hoodie. He pulled it out of storage the day before Jack’s birthday. Jeff gave Jack a long withering look before hugging Kent tightly. Kent tried to slip out of the house (technically his house, although Jack and Bitty had all but moved in at this point, the house across the street being mainly a formality) the morning of Jack’s birthday . The only reason Bitty knows this is because he woke up to the sound of Kent and Jack shouting at each other at five AM.

_“You can’t just run away!”_

_“That’s rich coming from you.”_

_“I said I was sorry—”_

_“For which time, Jack? For leaving in the middle of the fucking night instead of saying you didn’t want to sign with my team? For fucking ghosting me for five years and treating me like shit? For not—telling me you needed help? For never fucking listening when I asked you to see a therapist or take it fucking easy on the meds?”_

_“I didn’t—”_

_“It took me a year to get on meds. Because I was so fucking scared of doing to Jeff what you did to me.”_

The shouting cut off with some muffled crying. Bitty fell back asleep that morning. A few hours later, he went downstairs with Jeff to check on them. Kent was fast asleep on top of Jack. Jack was muttering to him quietly in French.

“What’s he saying?” Bitty asked Jeff quietly.

Jeff shook his head. “Promises he can’t keep.”

Kent smells like cinnamon, chocolate, sweat, and chili covered mango. He gives the best hugs that always calm Bitty down. Jack is great in a crisis. He’s fantastic at organizing people and making sure disaster is averted. But he’s not always great with validating emotions. Kent doesn’t always know how to take care of himself, but he’s always there for other people.

He holds Bitty for so long, breathing slowly so Bitty follows along with it. Sometimes he needs Kent, and sometimes he needs Jack. Just like sometimes all Kent needs is to know Jack’s alive, or that Jeff’s gotten enough sleep, or even that Parker’s doing okay out in LA.

Bitty thinks the trouble comes in assuming one person can fix everything, or be everything, for someone else. He’s grateful for all of his friends, but he’s happier out here in Vegas. No one expects him to have the perfect relationship with Jack. No one expects Bitty to always have good days, for that matter.

He doesn’t feel like he has to crawl out of his skin to be something he’s not here. He can just—be. He can’t stop counting his blessings for moments like this with Kent. Where he doesn’t have to be happy or even put together. He can just be honest with himself and someone he loves. Then again, that person has a compulsion to please everyone and a hard time asking for what he needs.

“I’m sorry I was short with you,” he says finally. “I know that can be hard for you to deal with.”

Kent shrugs. “You needed me, it’s no big deal.”

Bitty shakes his head. “Remember, you gotta have boundaries too, baby. You need space just as much as I do, or Jeff.”   

He takes one of those deep breaths that Bitty knows means he doesn’t believe a single word he’s heard. But he’s trying.

“Ok,” Kent says quietly.

Bitty sits up, leaning over to kiss his nose. Kent grins softly.

“You feel up for a movie?” he asks Bitty.

“As long as you don’t mind me spacing out,” Bitty says.

“Duh,” he says with a snort. “I was gonna watch something in Spanish.”

“Put subtitles on this time.”

“Anything for you, Bits.”

Bitty kisses him on the cheek. “I love you.”

Kent looks surprised, as if Bitty hasn’t said that a million times before. For a moment, resentment spikes through him. He can’t tell if it’s resentment toward Kent for not believing him or resentment toward Jack for helping to make Kent like this; for making it that much harder for Kent to accept things from other people. But time has made Bitty wiser. He knows better than to make snap judgements and “pick a side.”

He takes a deep breath, reining himself in a little. There are no sides, not anymore, at least. Just a complicated little polycule still trying to untangle years of hurt and baggage. He knows Jack and Kent will work through their issues...eventually.

For now, things are good.

_/.\\_

Mariana Vasquez comes into town shortly after Jack’s birthday. Kent’s kept his mom up to date with his love life for the most part. He told her he started seeing Bitty. However, when Jack opens the front door for him and Mariana, Kent realizes he may have overlooked an important detail.

“Jack,” she says softly. “How are you?”

“Uh, good,” he says awkwardly as he moves back to let her in.

He takes the luggage from Kent and mumbles something about taking it to the downstairs guest room. Jack’s always known when to duck out with Mariana around. She frowns, crossing her arms as he leaves the room.

“So, Jack’s here,” she says in a monotone voice.

“Yea, ma,” Kent says. “He got traded, remember?”

“I remember you saying you were going to keep your distance from him,” she says as she takes off her heels and sticks them onto the shoe rack.

Kent grunts, shrugging as he stuffs his hands into his pockets. “What do you want me to say?”

“How about ‘sorry I hid my relationship from you?’” she offers.

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you,” he says. “It’s new alright?”

“How new?”

He doesn’t look her in the eyes. “Like a week? I don’t know...Let’s get something to eat.”   

“Terrible deflection, baby,” she says with a twinkle in her eye.

Kent chuckles. “Only for you, Ma.”

She grabs his shoulders, hugging him tightly.

“You know I worry about you.”

“Yea,” he says with a sigh. “I know.”

“Are you sure you can handle him?”

“No clue,” he admits. “But I’m not alone. That’s gotta count for something.”

Even without heels, she has two inches on him. She kisses his forehead as she cards a hand through his messy waves.

“Your curls are so fried, it’s a tragedy,” Mariana says.

He laughs. “You can gimme a trim if you want.”

She hums, patting his shoulder. “Maybe later. Let's get you properly fed.”

“Mami—”

“Don’t ‘Mami’ me Kenny. I owe you a home cooked meal and your boyfriends a shovel talk. Are we clear?”

He hugs her tighter, nuzzling his head against her shoulder. “Crystal.”

_/.\\_

Kent wakes up at six thirty the morning of the home opener to puke his guts out. He hates waking Jeff, so he bolts into the bathroom in the hallway. He barely makes it to the toilet bowl before he’s blowing chunks. He pukes until he’s dry heaving.

He can’t remember what he was dreaming about, so he can only assume it was bad. He almost falls asleep against the rim of the toilet seat when the door opens. He doesn’t bother to sit up, because dozens of sleepless nights have proven to him that he can’t fake it very well. So why bother.

Someone puts a wet washcloth on his forehead. They rub his back as he groans. He gets handed a bottle of water as they sit down behind him. Kent is tired and probably on the verge of dehydration, so he takes slow sips as he leans against the person’s chest.

He melts into them, realizing too late who it is.

“What are you doing up?” Kent asks.

“I know when you can’t sleep,” Jack says as he runs a hand through Kent’s hair.

Kent chuckles. “Isn’t that my line?”

Normally, Jack would chirp him about being fine or needing more protein. But instead, he hugs Kent gently. Kent turns to put his head underneath Jack’s chin. He shudders. He feels like shit, and not even Jack thinks it’s nothing. He feels something wet trail down his face.

Jack kisses the top of his head.

“Don’t do that,” Kent rasps. “Don’t fucking act like I’m dying.”

“You’re hurting,” he says. “I want to help.”

“Bullshit,” Kent says weakly.

Because Jack doesn’t love him. Because Jack would rather die than talk shit through. Because scars don’t heal perfectly, and sometimes they crack under pressure.

Jack squeezes him tighter. “You do so much for everyone.”

“Shut up, Zimms. I’m a cancer ok? A fucking poison.”

“Don’t say that,” he snaps. “I love you.”

Kent really hates Jack right now. But instead of smacking him or walking away, he cries so hard it sounds like a shriek.

“Don’t say shit like that,” Kent says.

Jack gives him those dopey eyes that he’s only seen given to Bitty, ever. The sight makes his throat tighten.

“I do, Kenny. I love you. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making you worry,” Jack says. “For pushing you away. For not being honest.”

“No, it’s fine. I deserved it.”

Instead of arguing like Jack normally does, he kisses a tear away from Kent’s cheek. It makes Kent’s breath hitch and his throat tighten.

“I don’t want pity,” Kent says.

“I know.”

“You picked a funny time to say shit,” he mutters. “You can’t just—fucking apologize like this.”  

“Why?” Jack asks.

“Because then it isn’t just my fault. Then all the bad shit that happens to me isn’t penance for ruining everyone’s lives.”

“You saved my life, Kenny,” Jack says. “Don’t you get that? I would’ve overdosed either way. You called the ambulance. You made the league a better place. I’d be miserable without you.”

Kent clutches him tightly. He swallows thickly, blinking away more tears.

“Let’s go get some sleep,” Kent says. “We can talk more later.”

He feels Jack nod before he’s being scooped and carried out of the bathroom. He feels the way Jack takes them downstairs, placing Kent gently on the sectional before wrapping him in one of his abuela’s quilts. He whines when Jack moves away.

Because some things never change, and he’ll always miss Jack more than breathing. Jack scoots him further against the couch, slipping in next to him. Kent settles against his chest, already starting to drift off.

“Love you too,” he mutters.

Jack kisses his head again, telling him to sleep. For a minute, Kent feels like the world makes sense.

_/.\\_

Kent feels out of it the next day. He thinks it’s just some seasonal depression spiking, but he can’t get a grip on anything. He left training camp feeling shitty about himself. His therapist would tell him to look at a wheel to identify his emotions but—  

(But intrusive thoughts are getting in the way. He watched the fourth string guys keep a close eye on Jack as if he spent all off season doped up. It reminded him of what the Q felt like. It reminded him of every close call and closet make out session. It gave him flashbacks to the combine and how Jack’s grief swirled and grew until they both fucked up. He remembers the look on Jack’s face as he left for the dry cleaner. He remembers what his blood tasted like as he bit his mouth to quell his frighten screams.)

—but things just aren’t working out right now. He doesn’t have enough fight in him to control himself and he can’t say anything to Jeff, who will push Jack away. And he can’t say anything to Jack, who will blame himself and create strife in the house. He definitely can’t tell _Bitty_ —  

“Kenny?” Bitty says, nudging Kent’s shoulder with his foot.

He’s laying on the opposite side of the couch, watching Kent with calculating eyes.

“What?”

“Are you ok?” Bitty asks.

Bitty’s eyes are soft and concerned, as if he were talking to Jack and not Kent. It makes Kent’s skin crawl a little bit. Logically, he can know that Bitty loves him and might be worried. But Kent’s instincts are screaming for him to hide and get as far away from Bitty as possible. Because vulnerability is something that can be used against him. Bitty, like Jack, can bite with what he says. It’d be wise not to give him ammo.

Instead of talking himself in and out of paranoia, Kent says, “Yea, I’m fine.”

Bitty takes a deep breath, wringing his hands. “Are you sure? You’ve been really quiet today—”

“Bits, I promise, I’m fine,” Kent says. “Just an off day, alright? I’ll let you know if there’s anything you could do.”

Bitty stares at him for a moment before going back to his phone. Part of Kent feels relieved to have averted a big conversation. But the majority of his just feels empty and ashamed.

_/.\\_

Two weeks later, and he’s still sick. He goes out and plays the best he can. So far, that’s been enough. But it’s hard for him to stay awake outside of games and practice. He knows he looks like shit most days. It’s not easy, but he’s trying his best.

Of course, this doesn’t go unnoticed by the official “babysit Kent committee.” He woke up from a nap to hear Jeff talking to Parker on the phone while Jack, Bitty, and Perry sit around the breakfast nook with him. They chime in like it’s a fucking peace conference.

“So tell him to go the doctor,” Parker says over speaker phone.

“We tried that,” Bitty says tiredly. “He started sleeping in the basement with the door locked. He keeps swearing up and down that he’s fine.”

“He’s playing fine. Kellen won’t bench him unless we rat him out,” Perry says.

“He’s not a fucking child, Perry, you know that,” Parker says.

“We’re just worried, babe,” Jeff interrupts. “Kenny’s not ok, whether he wants to admit it or not.”

The thing about his BPD is that Kent doesn’t know what’s supposed to be normal sometimes. Even when he thinks he’s gotten better. Even when he’s trying his best, some people are going to see a clearer picture than he can. Maybe that’s just life.

He steps back from the basement door quietly, going back to the guest room. He sits on the bed for a minute, scrubbing his face. He tries not to look at the little plastic stick he threw into the garbage not a half an hour before.

It wasn’t his first thought. It’s more like his third thought after chronic illness and the flu. But then he started putting on a few pounds in just the right place. So of course he had to check. He’s a little relieved he’s terrible at remembering to take his T. Then again, that’s probably how he got into this mess in the first place.

He doesn’t want to deal with anyone upstairs getting emotional or excited or anything until he knows for sure. He orders an Uber before he moves the desk chair to just under the window. He unlatches the window, opening it quietly.

“Sorry about this,” Kent murmurs before climbing through the window. Careful not to let his torso scrape or bump against the ground. He dusts himself off, noticing his ride pulling up. He walks around the side of the house, slipping into the car as quickly as possible.

When the car’s out of the neighborhood, he texts Jeff.

_Needed some air, be back later. Promise._

He sags into the leather seat as his driver asks how his day’s going.

“Fine,” Kent says evenly. “Just got some errands to run.”

_/.\\_

Three hours later, Kent’s storming into Kellen’s office.

“I can’t play,” he all but shouts.

“Would you like to rephrase that and explain why you just barged into my office?”

He blushes. “Sorry ma’am. I can go back out and knock”

“Don’t bother. This must be serious,” she says, settling back into her chair.

“Uh, yea,” he mutters as he sits down. “Really fucking serious.”

She watches him closely for a minute, not saying anything. “Why don’t you walk me through your reasoning?”

He winces. “Unspecified lower body injury?”

She chuckles under her breath. “Will you to tell me what that means.”

“Here, I’ll show you.”

He shifts in his seat to pull out his wallet. He unfolds a glossy piece of paper, gently setting the sonogram on the desk.

“Kent, is this what I think it is?” she asks quietly.

He swallows. “Yea.”

She nods, staring at it intently. “You came here first, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” he says, not looking at her.

“You’re impossible,” she says softly. “Go home, tell...whoever. I’ll talk to PR and legal. You’re out indefinitely. Carter will be acting captain.”

“Thanks, boss,” he says, smiling harder than he thought possible.

“Just take care of yourself Kent,” she says, waving him off. “I want you playing next season.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His job is safe, his team will be fine, and he’s having a fucking baby.

Kent salutes her as he gets up to leave. “Hear you loud and clear, Coach.”

_/.\\_

He takes an Uber to the pharmacy and then home. He has half a mind to sneak into Jack and Bitty’s house and just camp out there for a while. He has to call his therapist. He starts ticking off all the shit he has to do now that he’s benched indefinitely. He hasn’t even figured out what he’s going to say to his partners.

If he weren’t exhausted, he’d probably come up with something creative. Right now he couldn’t give a fuck. When he unlocks the door, he’s hit with the smell of of fried chorizo and cheese, which would be perfect if it weren’t for a lingering scent of counter cleaner. He rips open the package of brown bags he bought, promptly puking into it.

He hears the conversation in the kitchen stop and footsteps scurrying along the hardwood floor. Bitty gets there first, almost  knocking the vomit bag out of his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice, hugging Kent anyway. When Bitty pulls back, he glares furiously at Kent.

“Ok I deserve that,” Kent says

“You couldn’t even text the group chat? You couldn’t say where you were going?” Bitty snaps.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sighing. “I get that you were worried—”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it, sir.”

Kent takes a deep breath. “Yea, I know.”

He looks up, noticing the way Jeff’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed as Jack watches hesitantly behind him.

“I went to the fucking doctor alright?” Kent says, blushing.

“You could’ve said something,” Bitty mutters, still angry.

“He’s right,” Jeff says. “I know you hate hospitals.”

“Nah,” Kent says, brushing him off politely. “It’s better this way.”

Bitty stares at him for a moment, only now noticing the bag in his hand. “Well?”

“Go sit in living room,” Kent says calmly. “I’ll tell you all about it.”

He throws away the puke bag, careful not to inhale through his nose while he’s in the kitchen. When he turns around, Jeff, Bitty, and Jack are already seated. He sits on the coffee table in front of them, pulling his wallet out again.

“I had a theory, and I had to check first,” he explains.

He takes the sonogram out, handing it to Jeff.

Jeff blinks, taking a long look at it before looking up at Kent. He looks down again. He opens his mouth, before closing it. Bitty looks over his shoulder, clutching Jack’s hand a moment later. Jack doesn’t say anything. But Kent knows what his “I’m pretending not to freak out” face looks like.

“I’m pregnant,” Kent says out loud for the first time. “Baby’s due in April.”

Bitty looks at him first. “Do you know—”

“No clue, can’t even rule out Zimms...or Parker,” Kent answers.

Jack’s eyes bulge slightly. He opens his mouth to protest, but promptly closes it.

Kent decides to keep pushing forward. “So, uh, I’m out for the season.”

Jeff snorts. “No kidding. Does Kellen know?”

“Yea, I told her.”

Bitty looks slightly offended, but Jeff and Jack get it. Talking to Kellen first wasn’t about saving face, or even putting hockey first. It’s about making sure his kid is safe...Their kid, if they want to stick around. Kent doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing, but he knows two things for sure. He wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted, and he never wants to put hockey before them. He’s been down that road before. He knows how it ends.

“Babe, you were talking,” Jeff coaxes him.

“Right. So, this is your official ‘do whatever you want’ notice. I’m having a kid,” he swallows. “You can be as much a part of that as you want. I won’t judge.”

He doesn’t know what he expects. Part of him thinks this is when Bitty and Jack get the fuck out of dodge, and maybe he moves to LA with Parker while Jeff figures out what he wants.

Instead, Bitty lets go of Jack’s hand, grabbing both of Kent’s. He squeezes a few times, like a heartbeat. Like a gentle reminder that this wasn’t the end of the world. Kent chuckles to himself.

If anything, it’s the exact opposite.

“I love you,” Bitty says firmly. “And so does Jeff, and so does Jack. We’re not going anywhere, baby.”

“Ok,” Kent says hoarsely.

He feels an ache in his jaw as he tries to clench it to keep his lip from wobbling. Jeff sits down next to him, kissing his temple. He looks at the hem of Kent’s t-shirt.

“Can I?” Jeff asks.

“Go for it,” Kent says quietly.

He lifts up Kent’s shirt. There isn’t much of a bump, but Kent’s already starting to round out. Jeff cracks a smile Kent hasn’t seen since the day his sister was born. It makes his eyes wet. Jeff looks at him expectantly. Kent nods.

Jeff kisses his stomach.

“Hey, kid,” Jeff murmurs. “You’re pretty lucky y’know that? You get a ton of dads to spoil you rotten.”

Kent has to blink back tears as he laughs. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a moment like this, but he must’ve done something right.

_/.\\_

“Hey,” Kent says over the phone a few hours later.

“Hey asshole,” Parker says lightly. “Heard you had your head stuck in your ass.”

He laughs, stretching as he sits up on the couch. “Yea, something like that. Listen, can you come home this weekend?”

“Sure, why?”

“We got some shit to talk about,” he says vaguely.

“Hang on,” Parker says.

Kent hears rattling on the other line. But then the front door unlocks. Kent rolls his eyes, getting up. Of course Parker took a flight out of LA to come see what’s up. The two of them are always going to do things a little differently. They’re not the kind of people who call every day to say they love each other or leave notes to remind the other to pick up milk on the way home. They’re the kind of people who won’t speak for weeks on end. They call each other in the middle of the night just to hear the other one breathing, and they send each other postcards to say they’re thinking about them.

Parker moves to LA when he thinks he’s losing sight of himself, but comes home the second he thinks something’s wrong. Kent meets Parker in the entrance hall; he has a suitcase big enough to be there a while. It makes Kent grin harder than he’d like to admit.

They’re never going to be normal. But maybe it doesn't matter if they know where romantic starts and platonic ends. They love each other, and that’s enough.

Parker wraps his arms around Kent, kissing his forehead gently.

“So what’s up?” Parker says.

Kent bites his lip. “How do you say dad in Korean?”

Parker glares half-heartedly. “Abba.”

He hums. “I like it.”

“You gonna tell me what’s up or are you gonna keep asking for a language tutoring?”

Kent snorts, taking one of Parker’s hands and putting it on his stomach.

“I have a feeling you should get used to be called Abba,” Kent murmurs.

Parker’s jaw goes slack. But a moment later, he starts laughing.

“Mom’s gonna be happy,” Parker says.

“No kidding,” he agrees.

Parker snorts. “I’m happy too, asshole.”

He smirks. “You fucking better be.”

Kent’s not worried. Parker might not always be able to give a hundred percent, but neither can he, or Jeff, Jack, or Bitty for that matter. They’re all a little lost in their own minds some days. But he knows they’ll figure it out. Someday.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title - lyrics from Coffee and Cigarettes by Augustana 
> 
> comments make the world go round so please, leave something nice down below that will give me the energy to finish this baby by next weekend. thanks 
> 
> **warning descriptions** : ken'ts pregnant! so there's pregnancy mentions, and vomit. also Kent and Bitty both struggle with executive dsyfunction and some mental health issues and jack and kent work their shit out for the most part


	4. deserving conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the labor is descriptive but not graphic, that being said if it isn't your jam, it's ok. the ending is positive

The Zimmermanns, by virtue of being Jewish, don’t celebrate Christmas. Kent, stupidly, thought that meant he wouldn’t have to worry about them dropping by for the holidays. Or ever. 

Jack gives him a heads up a week before as they’re showering. 

“Maman and Papa are visiting for a few weeks,” he murmurs as he washes Kent’s back. 

Kent nods and changes the subject before he says something stupid like “sounds fake” or “over my dead body they are.” He finishes having slow sensual shower sex with Jack as they both take a lot of care around Kent’s changing body. Kent’s stomach popped overnight, and he’s still getting use to the small bump. 

He watches tape with Jack and Jeff. He does admin stuff for Bitty and for Parker, who’s moved back in for the indefinite future. Kent does everything possible to ignore the tiny voice in the back of his mind screaming “Bob and Alicia are coming.” Because, like most things, it’s a half mangled pipe-dream-turned-nightmare. He hasn’t spoken to them in a decade. He isn’t about to unbury years worth of abandonment and hurt. 

But then his doorbell rings the next Wednesday while Jack and Jeff are at practice: Alicia’s on the front step holding a few bags with a glowing smile,  Bob’s tipping the cab driver, and Kent’s losing his fucking mind. 

“Kent!” she says like she hasn’t seen him in a month. 

Her eyes go straight to his bump, and he wants nothing more than to slam the door in her face and hide. 

“Look at you,” Alicia says warmly. 

Because Kent is a compulsive people pleaser with Borderline Personality Disorder, he smiles to match her. 

“It’s good seeing you again,” he lies, holding the door open wider so she can come into  _ his  _ house. 

Of course she can’t read him that well, she never could. So she shouts at Bob to hurry up. She comes in, hugging Kent tightly with her bags still in her hands. He barely hugs her back, but it’s enough to satisfy her. Bob comes in, ruffling Kent’s hair.

“Never seen you with your real hair, kiddo,” he chirps. “It looks even messier than that blonde thing you do.” 

Kent chuckles to save himself from saying something nasty or defensive. “C’mon, I’ll show you where your room is. Bits, come say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Zimmermann.” 

“So formal,” Bob says. “Where’s the love, Kenny?”

_ Dead, with your son, _ Kent thinks. 

Bitty comes skidding into the hallway. He fucking squeals when he sees Jack’s parents. 

_ Of course you love them,  _ Kent thinks. Then he promises not to ruin them for Bits. It’s nice that he still trusts them. 

Bitty hugs both of them tightly. “I’m so happy y’all could make it!” 

“We wouldn’t miss the holidays with our boys for anything,” Alicia says. 

Kent snorts. Bitty looks over his shoulder, frowning. 

“What was that baby?” 

“Oh nothing,” Kent says. “Just thought we should get these two settled in.” 

Bitty nods and takes the bags off Alicia’s hands. Kent tries to grab one, but no one will let him lift anything. He rolls his eyes when their backs are turned to him. He leaves Bitty to playing nice with them and goes to Parker’s office. He knocks but goes in before hearing a response anyway. 

Parker’s typing on his laptop furiously. “What,” he says without looking up. 

“Jack’s parents are here,” Kent says. 

“Yea, so? He told us they were coming.” 

“I didn’t believe him,” he says. 

Parker stops typing. He looks at Kent, eyes softening at whatever pitiful look Kent must have on his face right now. 

“What’d they do?” Parker asks softly. 

Kent clenches one of his fists, and the other goes to his bump, rubbing it soothingly. 

“Nothing, that’s the fucking problem,” Kent says quietly. “He was belligerent and short sighted. She was weak willed and never fucking around. They never fucking listened.”

Parker stares down at his computer. Kent can’t see for sure, but he has a feeling Parker’s digging his nails into palms with piercing intensity. He walks around Parker’s desk, grabbing one of his hands. He puts it on his belly. 

“We’re ok,” Kent says. “It was a long fucking time ago.” 

Parker licks his lips, looking up. “You weren’t his fucking parent. He wouldn’t even admit he was in love with you. You didn’t owe him shit.” 

Kent swallows thickly. “I know.” 

“Say it,” he says. 

“It wasn’t my fault,” Kent says reluctantly. 

“Say it again.” 

“Jack’s overdose wasn’t my goddamn fucking fault.” His voice wavers, he squeezes Parker’s hand. “Happy?”

Parker stands up, pulling Kent into his arms. “Are you happy?” 

“No,” Kent admits. 

“Then let’s fix it, together.” 

He blinks through tears. “Ok.” 

_/.\\_ 

Kent squirms in his seat at dinner. Jack volunteered to cook, so they’re enjoying some of Nevada’s finest chicken strips and Kraft dinner. Jack’s good at cooking, but is limited in his food interests. Kent doesn’t give a fuck at the moment; he’s mostly focused on keeping his anxiety under wraps. The meal is mostly Bob and Alicia talking to Jack and Bitty while Jeff answers the occasional question for them. 

“So Kenny,” Bob says at one point, “what are your plans moving forward?” 

He picks at his macaroni, shrugging. “I’m out for the entire season, so we’ll have to see how well I recover, and how I’m feeling during the off season.” 

His boyfriends nod in agreement but Alicia frowns. 

“Are you thinking of retiring?” she asks. 

“Not sure yet,” Kent says. “Maybe I will, maybe I’ll take another season off and stay at home.” 

“Kent—are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated to be a stay at home parent,” she says. 

“No, I don’t feel—”   

“She’s right,” Bob adds. “You have so much potential, and a few good years left. You can spend time with the baby when you’ve retired. And maybe have another one.” 

_ What, because you fucked your kid up to high hell, so I should do the same fucking thing so you won’t feel so shitty? _ He thinks to himself. 

Alicia’s gaping at him.   

“I said that out loud,” he realizes. 

“Yes,” Jack says. 

His chair screeches against the floor as he gets up. “I, uh, gotta go. Sorry.” 

Kent bolts to the master bedroom room. He locks the door behind him. He didn’t have to see Jack’s face to know the look he was giving him. He’s heard that voice enough over the years, the ‘how dare you talk about them like that’ voice. Bob and Alicia are perfect and always right. They judge and neglect and break Jack to the bone. But they’re perfect, because Jack adores them. 

So it must be Kent’s fault that he doesn’t like them. It must be Kent’s fault that they don’t have time or interest to hang out with Jack. It must be Kent—

He rushes to the bathroom, barely making it to puke in the sink. He doesn’t hate himself quite as much anymore. But some scars don’t heal the right way. They can never be covered up or painted over; they’re too injured for that. 

There’s a pounding on the bedroom door. He knows that if anyone really cares that much, they’ll just unlock it themselves. That’s why he went up here instead of bolting for Perry’s house, or taking his car and just driving away.  

He splashes water in his face, taking shaky breaths. He feels someone standing behind him. 

“Kenny,” Jack says quietly. 

It isn’t angry or disgusted. It almost sounds  _ worried _ . He turns around, and Jack envelops him in a gentle hug. 

“I’m not angry. Let’s talk about it,” he says. 

Kent bursts into tears. Jack squeezes him tighter. 

“You were dead. You were fucking dead, and no one listened to me. I had to find out from a fucking newspaper that you were  _ alive _ . That’s so fucked up.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“They ignored me. They were supposed to be there for me too, y’know? They didn’t fucking—they never.” Kent grabs his sleeve, wiping tears off his cheeks.   

“I know,” Jack says. “They’re different now. I promise.” 

“How can you be so sure? You worship the ground they walk on.” 

Jack shakes his head. “I hated them for years. It’s taken a while, but we’re ok now. It’s better...they’re better.” 

“I don’t trust them,” Kent finally says. “I don’t want them around our kid.” 

Jack kisses him on the forehead. “Ever?” 

Kent snorts. He isn’t an idiot. He knows that’s too much to ask, and that he’d never be able to do it unless he knew they were fucking up his baby, their baby. 

“I don’t know,” he compromises. “Maybe someday. Not now.” 

Jack nods. “You loved my mom.” 

“And look what good that did me,” he says. 

Next thing he knows, he’s getting dragged to the bed. Jack opens the door, and Alicia’s standing in the doorway. 

“Can I come in?” she’s looking directly at Kent. 

He shrugs, waving her in. She sits down next to him, tucking her legs under her skirt. She puts a hand on his shoulder, staring at his lap. 

“I never blamed you,” she says quietly. 

“That makes one of us.” 

Alicia sighs. “You were a good kid. You were everything we hoped Jack would find...someday.” 

“I wasn’t anything special.” 

“That’s a lie we let the league teach you,” she whispers. “When Jack was in the hospital, we made some tough choices. I—Bob and I almost divorced. Among other things. We didn’t have time to think about our careers or family, or anyone else. The only thing that mattered was our son, and how we failed him.” 

Alicia swallows thickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We never thought about how we failed _ you _ .” 

Kent shakes his head. “You didn’t owe me anything.” 

“Yes, we did. You saved him, more times than I can count.” 

He feels something wet sliding down his cheek. Alicia pulls him into a hug. Part of him wants to push her away and scream  _ where was this when Jack flatlined _ . The rest of him just takes it for what it is, too late but not unnecessary. 

“Thank you for saving my baby, Kent,” she says. “Thank you for always being there for him. Thank you protecting him from us.” 

“But—”

“I know that’s what you had to do. I’m not mad, neither is Bob.” 

“He’s an idiot,” Kent says without thinking. 

“Yes he is,” she laughs through tears. “But so am I.” 

He hugs her tighter. 

“I’m not the parent anymore, you are now,” she says. “Tell us to back off, it’s ok.” 

“Back off,” he says quietly. “I love hockey, but I love my family more. I can do whatever the fuck I want when they’re older. Stop projecting.” 

“Ok,” she says. “As long as you promise not to lose yourself in domestic life.” 

He chuckles. “Promise.” 

Jack clears his throat. 

“Zimms, for fuck’s sake, just enjoy the moment,” Kent chirps. “Better yet, fucking get in here.” 

So he does. Kent still feels raw, and unappreciated, but he feels a little more listened to and loved. That’s all he could ask for. 

The rest will come with time. 

_/.\\_  

 

The day before Christmas, Kent wakes up early to make breakfast. He finds Bitty in the kitchen stress baking. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for a moment before he has to do damage control. He walks up to Bitty slowly. 

“What’s going on babe?” Kent asks carefully. 

Bitty huffs. “My parents decided they’re flying in today.” 

Kent sputters. “What the fuck.” 

“I know, and I’m sorry they’re doing this. I’m making them stay in my house.” 

“You don’t have to do that—”

“They’re not staying here,” Bitty snaps. 

“I was gonna say make them stay in a hotel. Jesus, they do have you on edge.” 

Bitty sighs, looking at his rolling pin. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m spiralling here.” 

“Hey, that’s ok.” He takes the rolling pin out of Bitty’s hands. “Parents suck, I get it.” 

“No you don’t, you’re mama is wonderful,” Bitty protests.

“I have two biological parents, Bits.” 

“Oh, I assumed you never talk about your dad—”

“Look, it’s a long story. How about I tell you all about my parents over breakfast? Take your mind off things?” 

Bitty glares, crossing his arms. “You aren’t letting me freak out.”

“Nope, sorry,” Kent says. “Your feelings are valid, but your coping mechanisms are shit—” 

“Hey!” 

“Turn on the kitchen TV, we’ll watch Food Network while we taste shit,” he says.     

Bitty takes a deep breath, loosening up a little. “I knew there was a reason I loved you.” 

Kent smiles, but it’s mostly for Bitty’s sake. 

_/.\\_ 

 

Bitty’s parents are...interesting. Coach asks about hockey more than anything. When he finds out that Jeff is a basketball fan, they start talking about that too. Parker grew up around college football, so he bullshits his way through a conversation with Coach. Bob and Alicia keep Suzanne distracted. Thankfully, she doesn’t really have time to ask questions like why they are at the neighbors house, and what Kent’s gender is, because he’s looking more and more androgynous these days. 

“Dicky, help me make dinner,” Suzanne says. 

He gives a long suffering sigh. “Coming, Mother.” 

Kent knows from two years of listening to Bitty to know that whatever Suzanne has on her mind is iffy at best. So he decides to run interference. 

“Why don’t you show your dad our pool, and I’ll help Suzanne out?” 

Bitty looks at him carefully. “Are you sure?” 

“Yea, why not?” 

Bitty shakes his head. “I better just—”

“No Dicky, he’s right,” Suzanne agrees. “I’d love to get to know another big NHL player better.” 

“See? Win win,” Kent says. 

Bitty waves him off. “Fine, holler if you need me.” 

Kent and Suzanne work in perfect silence. She gives him a few directions here and there, quickly learning that Kent knows his shit and doesn’t like being talked down to. The room isn’t tense, per se. More like tangled in a web of things Kent’s sure they both want to say but don’t have the balls for it. He chuckles to himself, realizing that they quite literally don’t have balls.

“Y’all are awful nice for hosting us,” Suzanne interrupts the silence. 

“Yea, well, Bits was excited for you to come,” he lies. 

Suzanne clicks her tongue, nodding. He keeps chopping green onions, wondering if they could be friends someday. If she weren’t Bitty’s mother, and a shit one at that, he thinks they would get along pretty well. Maybe even a few years ago, things between them would’ve been fine. 

He stops chopping for a moment, cradling his baby bump with one hand. He has no idea how someone could treat their kid like that. His isn’t even born yet, and he’d do anything to see them happy. 

“What exactly are you to him?” Suzanne asks. 

Kent freezes. “What do you mean?” 

“Kent, I’m not stupid. I was naive for many many years. Thinking my baby was straight...thinking that we lived in a good town where he was safe and welcome. I don’t do that anymore.” 

“Ch’yeah, ok,” he chirps. 

“I need to know what your intentions are with him.” 

“He’s an adult, I’m sure you can talk to him if you’re so worried about me,” he says. 

“That’s what I was trying to do before—”

“Before what Suzanne? Before I ran interference, because when you get all weird and controlling he freaks out?” 

“He does n—”

“I hear when you call him, y’know,” he says. “You think you’re so much nicer and supportive now that you know. You treat what he cares about like shit and call it ‘being concerned for his well-being’.” 

“I don’t want him getting hurt!” Suzanne shouts. 

“Neither do I!” 

“I’m his mother,” she hisses. 

“Good for you,”he says sarcastically. “You’re doing a fucking awesome job, trust me.” 

She throws her knife down harshly against the chopping board. “I don’t know who raised you to be so—”

“Blunt?” 

“Disrespectful,” she says. 

“Suzanne, with all due respect, you don’t know shit about me, and you don’t know shit about your son. So maybe instead of giving me the fucking shovel talk, you should try earning your son’s trust.” 

He puts his own knife down, wiping his hands on his pants. 

“I’m fucking amazed he got through college with the way you talk to him,” he says before storming out of the room. 

He doesn’t let Jeff stop him as he goes into the laundry room. He rips the dryer door open, pulling out a pile of clothing. He starts folding them, piling them on top of the dryer. 

Bitty takes cares of everyone. He fixes so much shit all the time. He bends himself into a million positions to make himself accommodating for everyone. It makes Kent sick with anxiety.   

Bitty takes care of everyone, but who takes care of Bitty? 

He folds a shirt, and then five pairs of dress pants. Bitty bakes and he smiles more than he needs to. He speaks softly because that makes him more approachable, and keeps a bubbly disposition to lift everyone’s spirits. He’s always the shoulder to cry on. 

Who lets Bitty cry on their shoulder? 

Kent starts pairing socks together. Bitty looks after his fucking parents as if they can’t themselves. He listens to all their bullshit and plays therapist. He forgives them even when they make him cry. He takes his mother’s judgement and snide remarks because she could be worse. Because his mother loves him and is only worried about his well being. 

Bitty takes care of his parents. Who takes care of him? 

He watches Jack sleeping at night to make sure he’s still breathing. He makes friends with everyone imaginable and is always thoughtful with them. He solves people’s lives for them because that means they need him. It means they must love him enough to keep him around. 

Kent feels his heart in his throat. The same thought keeps cycling in his head. 

Who takes care of Bitty? Who takes care of Bitty? Who takes care of Bitty?

Who even cares? 

_/.\\_ 

 

Kent and Suzanne spend most of the holidays avoiding each other.  For the most part, that works. When they’re forced to be in the same room together, they put on a good show for everyone. It works pretty well, the way they banter lightly and chirp, but not too hard. It convinces most people that they’re on good terms, friends even. 

Kent has to tell Bitty it’s fine, they’re fine. There’s nothing else he can do. 

“But what about—”

“We’ll work it out eventually,” Kent promises for the eighth time since Bitty’s parents left. “It was just an off trip. She’s cool. We’re cool, ok?” 

He doesn’t like lying to Bitty, but he thinks these are the answers someone more stable, capable, and loving than him would give. He can fake it until they make it. It wouldn’t be the first time.   

He keeps a close eye on Bitty for a while after his parents leave. He’s not doing great, but he won’t admit it. Bitty is a lot like him in that respect—feeling like it’s too risky to be vulnerable and that no one should have to deal with that. It’s frustrating and it drives Kent up the wall, because he isn’t just anyone. 

He wants to be there for Bitty. He wants to make things better. He wants Bitty to learn from Kent’s own mistakes so he doesn’t have to fuck up in the same ways. He wants to save Bitty, it occurs to him. But deep down, he knows it doesn’t work like that. 

So he readjusts. He tries to be there for Bitty as much as he can. He tries to set the right kind of boundaries to not drive himself insane. He makes himself a shoulder Bitty can lean on, but he won’t fucking lean. Bitty refuses to lean. 

Meanwhile, Kent is getting further along in his pregnancy. He’s getting bigger and more hormonal. It’s getting a lot harder to ignore some things because his body (and baby) won’t let him. 

It’s the end of January when he finally caves. He’s been in a shit mood all day while his bladder’s been on the fritz. He’s relegated himself to watching TV in the living room with a bag of celery. His ankles are swollen and the Aces are on a roadie. Parker’s busy in his office, making some calls to his agent and production company. 

Bitty’s tried hovering a few times, but Kent keeps sending him away. The last thing Bitty needs is to worry about him. 

The fifth time Bitty comes into the room with an impatient expression on his face, Kent gives up. 

“I’m fine,” Kent says. 

“Fine?”

“Yea, Bits. I’m fine.”

“Ok.” He nods slowly. “But if you need to talk about anything, you know I’m here.”

“I know, babe,” Kent says. 

Bitty stands there for a minute, staring at him. 

“It’s just,” Bitty starts again, “I’m not just worried about you.” 

Kent puts a hand on his bump defensively. “Baby’s fine fine, Bits. I’m not stressed or anything.” 

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he grumbles.

He doesn’t need to look in Bitty’s direction to know he’s two seconds from spiralling. Because Bitty’s only coping mechanism is fixing other people. Which, Kent gets. He really does. But that was him a few years ago, and today he doesn’t have the spoons to rehash old wounds. 

Kent sighs, pushing himself off the couch. “I’m getting something to eat.”

“I can make you something—”  

“I got it,” Kent insists. 

“Of course,” Bitty says tightly. 

Kent pulls out grilled chicken, tortillas, guacamole, and sour cream from the fridge. He hates that he does everything slower now.  His gait is wide, and it feels like walking a few steps is a marathon. He’s won too many hockey awards to count. He’s beat so many cishet assholes without breaking a sweat. But now he breaks a sweat just to grab a snack. He hates how useless he feels. He hates that no one will let him be his own person. Most of all Bitty, who should get how he feels when he’s pushed away. 

“I can do that for you,” Bitty says. 

He knows he’s being a hypocrite, but— “No thanks, I got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” 

Bitty sighs. “You’re tired, can I just—”

“I said I fucking got it!” he snaps. 

Bitty sags. “I’m sorry.” 

“Can we please talk about this now?”

“No, fuck no,” Kent says. 

“Why not?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit, Kent,” his voice rises. “You’ve been in a sour mood all fucking week. Now tell me what’s wrong or so help me—”

“I’m not a fucking child. I can do this shit on my own.”

“But what is _ it _ ?”

“Nothing you have to worry about,” Kent says. “The less you know, the better.” 

“Of course I’m going to worry about you!” 

“Well don’t. I’m fine.” 

Bitty growls. “You can’t tell Jack to tell me how he’s doing and then not do the same.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Playoffs two years ago,” he says. “You told him to always tell me how he’s feeling.” 

Kent scowls. “That’s different.” 

“How?” 

Kent turns off the stove. He turns around and crosses his arms. “You really want to know how I am?”

“For fuck’s sake—yes,” 

“I’m tired. I have fucking aches and pains in places I didn’t know existed. I have to pee like all the fucking time. And I’m pissed as hell at you for not being to talk about this shit, ok?”

“Thank you for admitting that,” Bitty says evenly. “Can we talk about why you can’t talk to me?”

Kent laughs. He’s so angry and sad that he doesn’t know how to process it.  

“Do you even have any idea how much you fucked me up?”

“What? When?”

“When you told me you have nightmares about Jack,” he admits. “And then when you called me in the middle of the fucking night to make me relive the worst day of my life.” 

Bitty stiffens. He crosses his arms. Kent leans against the kitchen island. He regrets saying anything. The last thing he wants to do is make Bitty feel bad about himself. Something pricks against the corner of his eye. He hates telling someone they’ve hurt him, because he feels like he’s failed them by not making shit work. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” Bitty says finally. 

“I know you weren’t,” he admits. “Because it wasn’t about me, it was about Jack. It’s always about Jack, or Perry not liking you enough. Or what if this food blogger doesn’t think you’re as amazing as you think they are.”

“I care about you,” Bitty says. 

“It doesn’t fucking stop me from feeling like your last choice, ok?” Kent says. 

He doesn’t know where any of this is coming from, but he’s too afraid to stop. “So you didn’t know I spent a fucking week after that feeling suicidal as shit? So what you don’t know I never want to talk to you about serious shit ever again? You never even fucking asked how I was doing.” 

Kent takes a deep breath. He feels the baby squirming, and he rubs the spot gently. He isn’t sure what he’d do without them at this point. They’re the best grounding technique he’s ever had. The baby reminds him that everything’s real; that the stakes are big, but also worth it. He owes them a shot at a real family. He owes them parents who are happy. 

“I’m sorry,” Bitty says finally. “I wasn’t trying to neglect you, or make you feel like you didn’t matter.” 

Kent runs a hand through his hair, staring at the ground. “It’s fine.” 

“Don’t say that unless you mean it.” 

“Ok, it’s not fine. I’m a fucking mess, but you should stop pretending you’re any better.” 

He balks at Kent. “Excuse me?”

“You need help too, Bits,” he says quietly.  “I can’t talk to someone I’m constantly scared of sending over the edge.” 

“You won’t. I promise.” 

“I’ll work on believing you,” he promises. 

He wants Bitty to say something about going to therapy, or trying harder. Instead, he disappoints Kent again. 

“Thank you,” Bitty says. “I appreciate that.” 

_/.\\_ 

 

Bitty doesn’t look for a therapist. Kent does his best to ignore this fact. He just...withdraws a little. He tells Bitty less, because it feels wrong. It feels wrong to have his own problems when Bitty’s feel so much bigger. It doesn’t matter that he has nightmares, because Bitty’s still having his, and they’re worse. 

Somedays, Kent feels paralyzed. He doesn’t know what he can say to Bitty anymore. He doesn’t know how to be a good partner to him. Kent just wants to keep him happy, safe, and give him everything he deserves to have. 

It feels hard to articulate to anyone, and embarrassing if he even could. So he doesn’t. His problems are menial and temporary. He stuffs them down, because that’s what’s easiest. Logically, he knows he should be talking about shit. He should be saying something to Bitty about taking his mental health seriously, and telling Jeff to stop making risky decisions on the ice. He should be telling Jack and Parker both to stop being workaholics, that they have a kid to think about now. But it’s ok. 

They’re managing. It’s fine. They’re fine. 

Until Jeff decides to push his buttons. 

“What’s going on with you and Bitty?” he asks on day in early March. 

Kent hasn’t been able to exercise regularly in few months, so he’s relegated himself to water aerobics. It is fun when his belly’s the size of large melon, but not great when he can’t make an easy getaway from a conversation he doesn’t want to have. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Seriously? This game?” Jeff groans. “Ok. Why is Bitty worried sick that you’re mad at him?”

“I’m not,” he lies. 

“Then go tell him that.” 

“No,” Kent says.  

“Why not?” 

He shrugs casually. “Because it’s not a big deal.”

“What’s not?”

“Whatever he thinks is wrong.” 

“Then go tell him that. Make him feel better,” Jeff says. 

“Already tried that, he won’t listen to me.”

“Maybe that’s because he isn’t an idiot either, Kenny.” 

Kent smacks the water violently. “What the fuck do you want from me Jeff?” 

“You to stop bullshitting me. Why are you upset?” 

“I’m not upset,” he insists. 

“Angry, then,” Jeff says. 

“Not that either. I’m not anything. I have no fucking opinion ok.” 

Jeff scrubs his face. He rips his shirt off, pulling his pants down. 

“What are you—” Kent is interrupted by Jeff jumping into the pool. 

The splash completely soaks his hair. 

“Fuck you,” Kent growls as Jeff comes to the surface for air. 

“Why are you mad?” Jeff asks again. 

“He won’t go to a fucking therapist!” 

“Oh,” Jeff says. 

“Yea,  _ oh _ ,” Kent says. “He knows he’s fucked up. He said he’d fucking think about it, and now he won’t do shit.” 

“Babe, he’s an adult. That’s kinda his decision to make,” he says. 

“So when I’m being a neurotic mess, I’m hurting other people, but he can fuck me up and no one cares? Is that it?” 

Jeff sputters. “You haven’t told me anything about this.” 

Kent blushes. “I know.” 

“Start from the beginning. Now,” Jeff demands. 

So Kent does. He starts from the first moment Jack was traded to the Aces and doesn’t stop until he gets to his latest argument with Bitty.

“And that’s what happened,” Kent says. 

Jeff blinks. “Ok, let’s get out of the pool. Then we’re talking to him.” 

“No, let’s not—”  

“If Jack was giving you this much grief, you think any of us would let him talk to you again? Ever?”

“...No,” Kent admits. 

“So why is Bitty any different?”

“Because he...he’s different, ok? He’s been through a lot of shit.” 

Jeff kisses his nose. “His shit isn’t your shit. He’s got his problems, and it’s great that you get how to help him. But it’s not your job to save him.”

“But he’s being so stupid,” he whines. “All he has to—”

“Hey,” Jeff says. “Telling someone isn’t the same as making them get it. We learned that the hard way, remember?” 

“Yea, you’re right.”   

Kent sighs. “Don’t make me talk to him about this shit again.” 

“Bud, how do you expect to raise a kid with him if you can’t stand up for yourself?” 

“I already did, and he won’t listen,” he argues. 

“Then tell him to get with the program or back off,” Jeff says. 

Kent swallows. “What if I lose Jack too?” 

“Then they aren’t worth shit,” he says. “And you’ve still got us. Always.” 

He reaches for Jeff, clinging to him tight. He doesn’t want to fuck up. But he’s not sure what else he can do at this point. 

 

_/.\\_

Bitty is up to his ears in frustration, and it’s mostly concerning Kent. First Kent was pushing him to get help (which, sure, he could stand a therapy session or two at some point in the future), but now he’s completely frozen Bitty out of his life. It’s maddening and upsetting. 

His emotions must be getting the better of him, because Jack takes his phone out of his hands and pulls him toward their bedroom. Most days there’s a ton of them trying to pile into one bed… except when Kent’s been sneaking off in the middle of the night to go sleep on the couch. He hasn’t been sleeping well, that much is clear. But what is Bitty supposed to do about that if Kent won’t talk to him?  

“Bits,” Jack says. 

He realizes that he’s gotten distracted on their way to the bedroom, and now they’re sitting on the bed with Jack awkwardly staring at him, waiting for him to say speak. Bitty stubbornly shrugs. 

“What?” 

Jack scowls. “That’s my line,” he says somewhat jokingly. 

Bitty shrugs, hugging himself tightly as he tries to adjust his legs into a comfortable position. Crossing them, tucking them underneath himself, doing the splits... nothing feels right except for the fact that he’s readjusting. Nothing’s working, and he can’t find a solution. He can’t—  

“I can’t fix him,” Bitty says suddenly. 

Jack draws his brows together in confusion as Bitty gapes. 

“Oh,” Bitty says quietly. “I can’t fix Kent.” 

“What is there to fix?” 

“He won’t talk about his problems, and he’s pulling away from me, Jack. Don’t you see it? The way he smiles and asks me about my day but won’t tell me a single thing that’s going on with him?” 

Jack shrugs. “He’s uncomfortable. He’s a private person.”

“But we’re  _ dating  _ him, Jack,” he says impatiently. “What am I supposed to do to help him when he won’t fucking  _ talk _ to me?” 

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe Kent’s already moved on and is too nice to tell Bitty he’s not interested anymore. Maybe it’s a long time coming and he’s just noticing the cracks in the wall. How could he have been so naive? 

Jack stares at the door for a minute before standing up, offering Bitty a hand. 

“We’re talking to him,” he says. “We’ll figure it out, together.” 

Bitty reluctantly lets Jack drag him downstairs to face uncertainty. At least if things crash and burn, he’ll always have Jack. 

_/.\\_

 

When they get to the bottom of the stairs, Jeff and Kent are walking inside from the pool. Jack stops in his tracks. 

“Uh, we should talk,” Jack says. 

Jeff nods slowly. “Yea, actually. I’ll, uh, put a kettle on.” 

Bitty avoids Kent’s gaze. But Kent avoids looking at either of them entirely, electing to stare at the back of Jeff’s head like it’s a life line. Bitty feels tension knotting in the pit of his stomach. He bites his lip, running his tongue over every chapped groove. It’s a better sensation than considering the worst possible outcome. It’s better than wondering what life without Kent is like. 

Jeff helps Kent sit down at the table. They’re both dripping wet, but don’t seem to mind beyond Jeff wrapping Kent in a new towel. When the tea’s ready, Jeff pours it into four mugs. He brings over honey and sugar with stirring spoons. He puts Bitty’s spoon directly into the mug. 

They’ve been metamours long enough to understand each other’s needs. The sound of metal clinking against the ceramic mug is soothing, grounding. It keeps Bitty’s head at the front of the table instead of dissociating miles above the house. 

 

His eyes drift to Kent’s knuckles, which look dry and worse for wear. He fights the urge to hold them; that might not be his place anymore. 

Jeff clears his throat. “So I think there’s some tension that we need to talk through, together, as a family.”

Jack nods. Bitty takes a long sip of tea, ignoring the way it burns his throat. He feels Kent’s eyes on him. 

“Kenny, why don’t you tell Bits what’s bothering you?” 

“It’s no big deal—” 

“Ken—” 

“Just say it,” Bitty snaps. “I’m a big boy. I can handle it.” 

He watches Kent take a shuddering breath, putting a hand on his belly. 

“You scare the fuck out of me... like every fucking day,” he says. “I can’t make you, but I already asked you to look for someone, and you’ve been spiraling worse lately and it hurts to see you like that, ok?” 

He gapes. “What?” 

Jack presses his lips into a thin line. “Bits, why are you upset with Kent?” 

Kent’s face goes pale. Bitty wants to smack Jack a little for phrasing it like that. 

“It’s nothing—”

“Bullshit,” Kent says. 

His eyes are dark and glazed over. Bitty’s seen him do this before. He’s clearly trying to fight it, but once Kent Parson thinks he’s hurt someone, he shuts down and hides away, too angry with himself to interact. And really, he loves Kent, but he is fresh out of spoons, and—  

“I’m sick of you ignoring me,” Bitty says. 

“I’m not ignoring you. You’re the one ignoring me—”

“I said I’d think about getting a therapist.” 

“That’s you speak for fuck no,” Kent says as he buries his head in his hands. “You’re just... holy fucking shit Jeff, I can’t.” 

Jeff squeezes his arm, kissing his temple, before turning to Bitty and Jack. 

“He’s upset because he feels like you’re cutting him out of your life... which is what he’s been doing to you.” 

Bitty hits his head against the table, relaxing slightly as Jack massages his shoulders. 

“So what do we do?” Jack asks. 

“We toss these two into couples therapy, probably.” 

“What’s the point?” Kent says tiredly. “Bits will never agree to that.” 

“You don’t know that Kent Vasquez Parson,” Bitty snaps. 

“I know you! You’re gonna act like it’s all an insult and that you’re better than therapy—”

“Not at all, therapy’s important and it can teach—”

“Don’t give me that ‘therapy is great’ bullshit. You think you’re too stable for therapy but you’re fucking not.” 

“Ok, I’m a fucking mess. I can barely function, and every day’s goddamn hard as shit, and I have to force myself to do anything. There, Kent, I’m broken. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

He looks up to glare at Kent, expecting a defiant glare in return. Instead, he finds Kent’s eyes swimming in silent, angry tears. 

“You don’t need to tell me you’re a fucking mess,” Kent chokes on a sob. “I think you’re fucking perfect, ok?” 

Bitty feels a chill go down his spine. He scowls, angry at Kent for thinking too much of him and not enough of himself. 

“Don’t say that,” Bitty says. “It’s not true.” 

“So? Who fucking cares? I love you, Bits. And I’m so goddamn sick of watching you struggle through every fucking day that it’s easier to fucking look away.” 

Bitty feels something in his eye. He wipes it away. He doesn’t like struggling. He hates that he can’t function to the capacity he knows he can. Even when he can pull great videos and marketing campaigns out of his ass, he’s constantly disappointed that he can’t be there for everyone else. He just—  

“I want to help you, but I can’t,” he admits. “You won’t let me and it hurts. I love you, Kenny. But you won’t talk to me anymore. How am I supposed to know if  _ you’re _ ok?”   

“You shouldn’t worry about me, I’m fine,” Kent says. 

“But you’re  _ not _ .” 

“It’s ok,” Kent insists. “I didn’t ask you to fucking fix my life. I just want you to be happy and healthy, and to fucking let me help you.” 

“That isn’t  _ fair _ . You can’t expect me to let you in if you won’t let me in.” 

“When was the last time you fucking let me in? I’m so fucking desperate to be in your life, but all you do is push me toward the pleasant shit you think will keep things easy.” 

“What’s so wrong about that? You’re my secondary, Kent. Why can’t I go to Jack about some things and you for others?” 

“Because that isn’t a real fucking relationship, Bits. You don’t think I know that game? You can call it whatever the fuck you want, but that’s not healthy. You think bottling it up and dishing out your problems like fucking rations makes you easier to deal with, right?” 

He blushes, wondering if it’s possible to get swallowed whole by the floorboards. Kent leans back, crossing his arms awkwardly over his stomach. 

“Yea, me too,” Kent says quietly. “Like, every day of my fucking life.” 

Kent sighs, leaning his head back. “Ok, maybe I’m really pissed because you remind me of me, ok? And... idk, I just hoped that you’d see how fucking stupid I am and be better.” 

Bitty snorts. “I know you push yourself, baby. But I can’t blame you for something I know I’m guilty of too—”

“Exactly!” Kent says emphatically. “I’m not gonna fucking stand over you saying ‘you need a fucking therapist, get one’ all the fucking time. Even though you need one.”           

Jack laughs, drawing their attention away from each other. He stops when he notices them looking. 

He shrugs. “Kenny curses when he’s anxious. It’s cute.” 

Kent blushes, leaning over to poke Jack in the shoulder. It gives Bitty a second to drink some tea and... process. He runs a hand through his hair. 

“We’re a mess,” Bitty says. 

Kent chuckles, eyes lingering over Jeff, who’s giving them an encouraging smile. “Guess so. Just a couple of dysfunctional trauma-ridden messes who wanna fix everyone before themselves.” 

Bitty takes a deep breath. “Maybe... we could work on that, all of us.” 

Kent smiles. It’s not forced or fake. It’s that little twitch in his lips that only comes up when he’s so damn scared of fucking up that he refuses to be hopeful. Bitty reaches over, putting a hand over Kenny’s and squeezing it tightly. 

It’s ok. He can be hopeful for the two of them.

_/.\\_ 

Bitty wakes up the next morning to the smell of fresh pie. He sits up in a panic, wondering if he’s sick or if his mother’s decided to make another impromptu visit. He climbs over Jack before scurrying downstairs. His heart’s pounding more than it probably should, but he’s counting the worst case scenarios and wondering how much damage control he’ll have to do. 

He skids to a halt in front of the kitchen entryway. There’s a fresh pie on the cooling wrack, a chess pie. 

Bitty swallows thickly. “That’s—”

“Your favorite pie? I know,” Kent says with a triumphant smirk. “You’re gonna have to let it cool before you have any. But, uh, your mom walked me through it, and she said it looks great, so here’s hoping.” 

He looks around, as if his mother with appear out of thin air. “Is she here?” 

Kent laughs. “Fuck no, I called her to ask what I should bake for you.” 

“You... baked... for me?” 

Kent shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Duh, I mean... you needed a fucking pick me up after yesterday. And like, when’s the last time anyone baked for you?” 

“You,” Bitty says. “Whenever you bake.” 

“Yea, but when’s the last time someone baked something just for you, the way you do for other people?” 

He takes a deep breath, admitting, “Never.” 

Kent’s face softens. He waddles over to Bitty, hugging him tightly. Bitty clutches him back, careful not to crush the baby. He feels something slide down his cheek. 

“Hey,” Kent says quietly. “You’re fucking amazing, ok? I am so fucking proud of every single thing you do. You deserve to be spoiled too, got it?” 

“Alright,” Bitty says reluctantly. 

“Say it, Bits.”

“I deserve to be spoiled,” he says. 

“And loved unconditionally,” Kent amends. 

Bitty clears his throat. “And I deserve to be loved unconditionally.” 

“Fuck yea you do,” Kent says before kissing him. 

It’s... a hard pill to swallow. But when the chess pie is finally cool enough, he gets to taste what it’s like for someone else to make something with only him in mind. It’s really wonderful. 

_/.\\_   

Bitty gets up early one morning the next week because he just can’t sleep. Kent isn’t in bed, so he thinks at least coaxing him back into a bed will be better than aimlessly staring at the ceiling for hours. If he doesn’t want to move, so be it. At least Bitty can watch some TV with him while they both ignore their needs for a few hours. 

He doesn’t know what to expect, but finding Kent watching movies in clear discomfort wasn’t it. He walks over quietly, sitting on the floor next to Kent’s belly. 

“Hey, how are two of my favorite people this morning?” 

Kent rolls his eyes. “I’m f—”

Bitty’s glare cuts him off. Kent sags. 

“Your kid is so fucking big, and they won’t stop moving,” he says as he rubs a spot on his stomach where the baby is kicking. 

Bitty puts his hand next to Kent’s. “Hey there, sweetpea, why don’t you let your daddy relax for a little? Y’all can play more later if you let him sleep.” 

The movement calms down a little before stopping. Bitty keeps murmuring to the baby, talking about this and that and mostly things of no consequence. When he looks up, Kent is fast asleep. He smiles softly, reaching over to kiss his belly. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. He’s been stretching himself awful thin lately. He needs all the love and patience he can get.” 

He goes back upstairs to grab Kent’s maternity pillow. He situates Kent more comfortably on the couch before pulling a throw blanket over him, and then heads back to sleep. 

A few hours later, he gets up and finds Kent still fast asleep on the couch. Jeff nudges him into the kitchen. 

“Thanks,” Jeff says. “He was complaining about us being too hot but the couch being too lonely.” 

Bitty smiles. “Glad I could help.” 

Jeff hugs him tightly. “You do more than that. But yea, thanks for pitching in. He looks a lot better now.” 

Bitty hums contentedly, feeling more at home here than he has in a while.    

_/.\\_ 

Bitty’s having a hard day, which is pretty typical for the first week of the month. He has to pitch ideas to his creative team out in LA and double check that his travel schedule is clear until June. He needs to be here when the baby’s born; that isn’t negotiable. 

It’s been a long morning, and he’s already fried beyond belief. He taps his pen rapidly against his idea notebook, staring blankly at a page that won’t write itself. There’s a knock on the door of his studio/office.

“Come in,” he shouts. 

Kent waddles in with a plate and glass of orange juice for lunch. Bitty smiles gratefully. 

“Honey, you shouldn’t have,” Bitty says. 

Kent awkwardly leans over to kiss his head. “C’mon, you need a break.” 

“But—”

“Bits, please?” he asks softly. “I haven’t seen you all day.” 

Whether that’s an admission of worry or feeling neglected, Bitty doesn’t know. He takes it for Kent needing attention because that’s easier to accept than the idea that maybe he’s pushing himself too hard... again. 

Kent takes a chair next to him and watches him eat. It’s a quiet companionship that lets Bitty decompress. He didn’t realize how much he needed a break.   

“So do you wanna talk about it?” Kent asks after a few minutes of silence. 

Normally, Bitty would give a run around about how nothing’s wrong. But he’s tired and his heavily pregnant boyfriend walked across the street with food in hand just to check on him. It feels a little wrong to impose his bad emotions on Kent when Kent’s probably having a worse day than he is... but…but the hesitant and somewhat hopefully expression Kent’s giving him makes him wonder if maybe Kent wants to know what’s wrong. Like maybe he’s ready and willing to be there for Bitty, just like Bitty wants to be there for him. 

He takes another bite of his food. “There’s just so many ideas in the world, baby. Sometimes... I feel like a fool for trying to come up with new and interesting content ideas. Everything’s been done or not tried for some reason or other…” 

Kent squeezes his hand. 

“You need to give me a minute, baby,” he says. “This is hard... I can’t... I don’t even know what I’m saying.” 

“Hey that’s fine,” Kent whispers. “I don’t expect you to be perfect at opening up, alright? I just want you to try and meet me halfway. If this is where halfway is today, that’s fine.” 

Bitty nods hesitantly. He gets a smattering of kisses and words of affirmation. Kent convinces him to let the brainstorming go for the day. His team knows that he’s on vacation until further notice. He’s got a long backlog of videos before his channel goes on hiatus. 

“It’s ok, Bits,” Kent says as they walk back to his house. “I know it sucks to feel like you’re not doing enough, but you do so fucking much all the time. You deserve a break, ok?” 

“I deserve a break,” he repeats shakily. 

It’s a hard message to retain. But once they’re curled up in bed together with Parker napping next to Kent, it doesn’t feel too bad. 

_/.\\_ 

Bitty watches Kent from the safety of the living room as Kent mercilessly kneads a ball of dough. He’s working with a firmer hand than Bitty would normally use. But the scowl on his face is clear; he’s upset. He’s kneading the rage right into his dough. 

Britney is blasting from the speakers. Kent’s sweaty and disheveled. The baby’s gotten big and makes the way Kent’s hunched over look anything but comfortable. 

Part of Bitty wants to ask what’s wrong, to take his hand and make him relax. But personally, he knows that sometimes he just wants to be left alone. Maybe that’s what Kent needs, to have someone keeping a safe distance, ready to be supportive if needed. 

Kent’s on his third batch of dough when the boys get back from practice. He looks a bit frantically between Jack and Jeff, trying to convey a slight sense of urgency. Jeff walks a little faster toward the kitchen as Jack hangs back. Jack watches closely, reaching to squeeze Bitty’s shoulder.

“What happened,” Jack asks quietly. 

Bitty shrugs. He honestly doesn’t know. One minute Kent’s sitting calmly on the couch, scrolling through his instagram feed. The next thing he knows, Kent’s bustling faster than an eight and half month pregnant person should. 

They watch Jeff approach Kent carefully. 

“Hey, babe,” Jeff says as he pauses Kent’s playlist. “Can you talk about it?” 

Kent hesitates as he stops kneading the dough. He takes a shallow breath, shaking his head. 

“Can we talk about it later?” he asks. 

Kent nods. 

Jeff looks over in their general direction. Bitty nods his head assuringly. He isn’t sure what Jeff is asking or needs to hear, but he knows how to help Kent more than Bitty can at the moment. 

“Do you need something in the meantime? Cuddles?”

Kent takes a deep breath before nodding weakly. He looks worse for wear. Admitting he needs people, that he could possibly be vulnerable, takes a lot out to him. Bitty’s learned as much lately. 

“You want them from me or—” 

Kent swallows. “Zimms,” he mutters. 

Jack’s rushing over to him less than a second later. He’s careful to hug Kent slowly. Bitty feels something stuck in his throat as Kent dissolves into sobs and incoherent rambling. Jeff, who visibly pales a minute into Kent’s explanation, seems to understand. He grabs Kent’s phone from the couch, unlocking it. 

Bitty watches him block some people on instagram before deleting the app. He doesn’t know how to feel about Jeff just taking social media away from Kent’s phone. But, as he looks back at Kenny sobbing into Jack’s shirt, he thinks it might be for the best. For now at least. 

Jack coaxes Kent to the couch, murmuring questions about whether he needs water or food. Bitty automatically grabs celery sticks from the fridge when Kent asks for some. 

Parker comes out of his office a few minutes later, assessing the room. He grabs one of the throw blankets, putting it around Jack and Kent before making Jeff sit on the other side of Kent. He starts  _ When Harry Met Sally _ . Bitty wonders how often this has been their routine. He’s trying not to feel left out, helpless. He understands that he isn’t the best person to help Kent right now. 

That doesn’t make the fact that Kent asked for Jack, or that everyone else just _ knew _ how to contribute, sting any less. 

Parker nudges Bitty to sit down with him on the other side of the couch. They aren’t close as far as metamours go. Bitty feels a little exiled and lonely until Parker wraps an arm around him. Bitty instinctively clutches back. They cuddle for the rest of the film, taking turns watching the other three from a distance. It’s not a romantic sort of interaction, but it’s just as intimate. Bitty rests easily against Parker’s chest, scratching the back of Parker’s head soothingly. 

It’s a mutual comfort that comes from knowing they’re not always the center of attention in a polycule. Sometimes it’s Jeff’s moment, or Jack’s or Kent’s. A lot of the time lately, it’s been Bitty’s. Even if he and Parker aren’t dating, they’re tied to each other. They’re in this whole “raise a baby with your lovers and metamours” thing together. They’re in each other’s lives for the long haul. 

Parker rests his head against Bitty’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kent sleeping against Jeff’s shoulder. Bitty sighs contently as the credits roll. They’re alright, he thinks. They’re far from perfect, but they’re trying. 

_/.\\_

Kent’s napping in the backyard on the first Sunday in April when he’s woken up by an obnoxious stomach cramp. It’s not... the worst cramp he’s felt ever, or even that day for that matter. He’s been napping on and off all morning, startling awake whenever a cramp starts up. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his belly before trying to get more sleep. 

Not too long later, he’s woken up again by a similar pain. 

“Fucking Braxton Hicks,” he curses under his breath. 

He breathes through the pain and tries to catch his breath before trying to stand up. It doesn’t work at all, which is honestly unsurprising but mind boggling. He sits there stubbornly for another few minutes before giving up. 

“Matty!” he screams. 

Parker opens the screen door less than a minute later. He glares at Kent. 

“Don’t call me that,” Parker says. 

Kent chuckles. “A little help here?” 

Parker crosses his arms. “What’s in it for me?” 

“How about—” Kent stops, hissing as another cramp hits him. 

Parker’s kneeling in front of him a second later. 

“Hey, in through your nose, out through mouth, remember?” Parker says as he rubs circles into Kent’s lower back.

Kent tries to follow Parker’s instructions. The con—cramp lasts longer this time. Parker helps him stand after it’s over. They walk slowly back into the house. Kent stops once they’re inside to rest against the wall. 

“How long have you been in labor?” Parker asks seriously. 

“I’m not,” Kent says. 

“Are you lying to me or yourself?” 

Kent glares. “I’m not in labor. It was just some nasty Braxton Hicks contractions, ok?” 

Parker glares at him. Kent ignores him in favor of sitting on the exercise ball in the living room. He bounces on it for a few minutes before another contraction starts. 

“Babe,” Kent hisses. “Can you get me a hot water bottle?” 

He clenches his fists as he focuses on breathing. He hears some shuffling upstairs. There’s some murmuring that he can barely understand. By the time the next contraction starts, a hand is on his back, massaging him gently. 

“Kenny,” Jack’s voice floats into his ear. “Breathe. You’re ok.” 

Kent leans forward, resting his head against Jack’s shoulder as he moans through the contraction. They’re getting harder.

When it’s finally over, he cracks an eye open. Jeff’s standing next to them looking concerned as shit. 

“How long have you been in labor?” Jeff asks. 

“I’m not…in labor,” Kent protests weakly. 

Jeff crosses his arms. “Babe, seriously?” 

Kent sighs. “Uh... what time is it right now?” 

“Three pm,” Jeff says. 

“So, uh, since... five? Probably?” 

“Five am?” Jeff asks. 

Kent winces. “Um... sure?” 

There’s silence for a beat, and then—  

“You’ve been in labor since  _ yesterday _ ,” Jeff says incredulously.

“Uh... possibly,” he says. 

“Why wouldn’t you say—”

“Because it wasn’t... bad? Like fuck, they only started hurting a few hours ago, and I can still talk through—” a contraction cuts him off. 

He listens to Jack count breaths as he leans against him again. Jeff stands behind him, massaging his back. 

“Should we call the midwife?” Jeff asks when it’s over. 

“Probably,” Kent says. “Fuck, someone get the birthing pool started.” 

“Here, lets get you in the tub for a while,” Parker says as they help him stand. 

Kent feels a knot in the pit of his stomach. Something about the calmness of Parker’s voice makes it all the more real. 

“Holy shit,” Kent says a few minutes later as he leans against Jeff in the bathroom, waiting for the tub to fill up. 

“What?” Jeff asks. 

“We’re having a baby,” he says in awe. 

Jeff cracks a smile, kissing him on the forehead. “You’re just realizing that? Right now?” 

Kent hides his face in the crook of Jeff’s neck. “It’s just... hitting me, y’know?” 

Another contraction starts before he can get in the tub. Afterward, Parker and Jack help lower him in. It’s the smallest full bathroom in the house, so there isn’t enough room for someone to sit in there with him. He moans in relief as the warm water relieves the stress in his back. Something’s nagging him, but he can’t put his finger on it as another contraction starts. This one is easier, at least. Kent opens his eyes wide when he realizes what’s missing. 

“Where’s Bits?” he asks. 

“He went out to get lunch,” Jeff says. “He should be back... soon.” 

Kent tries to take a deep breath. 

“What’s going on babe?” Jeff asks quietly. 

“It’s... stupid.” 

Jeff squeezes his shoulder gently. “No, it’s not, whatever it is you can tell us alright?” 

“It’s the fucking bathroom, ok?” he admits quietly. “He’s not here, how am I supposed to know he’s ok?” 

“Bud,” Jack says. His voice is far away. 

Fear runs down Kent’s spine. “No... shit. Zimms I’m—”

“It’s ok,” Jack says shakily, trying to smile for him. “I’m ok. We’re ok.” 

He doesn’t want to cry right now, but another contraction hits, and it’s too much. He sobs into Parker’s shoulder, getting his shirt completely soaked. He tries to mutter apologies, but the contractions are getting worse. When it’s over, he kisses Parker’s shoulder. 

“Jeff, you and Jack should take a walk around the neighborhood,” he says. 

“Kenny, I’m fine,” Jack insists. 

He tries to give Jack the steadiest gaze possible. “Do it for me, please? I’m alright, I fucking promise. We just... need a breather ok?” 

This seems to be good enough for Jack, who lets Jeff pull him out of the bathroom. There’s finally enough space in the bathroom for Parker to sit next to the tub. 

“You know you’re the one in labor, right? You don’t have to be the captain of that too,” Parker chirps. 

Kent snorts. “Do you blame me?” 

Parker leans over, kissing his cheek. “No, you’re just strong as shit and I hope you remember that.” 

Four contractions later, Bitty comes rushing into the bathroom. 

“Why didn’t anyone call me?!” Bitty says. 

“You were supposed to be back a fucking hour ago,” Parker snaps. 

“I told y’all I was going to a matinee—” 

He’s cut off by Kent moaning through a contraction. Bitty takes over counting breaths for Parker. 

“That’s it, baby,” he says when the pain starts to subside. “You been having these for long?” 

“He started having them yesterday,” Parker tells him. 

Kent nods as Bitty gawks at him. He thinks normally Bitty would launch into a long lecture; instead he takes a deep breath of his own.  

“C’mon, Tracy’s here and we’ve got the birthing pool all set up,” Bitty says. 

He and Parker help him stand. Parker wraps a towel around him more for warmth than modesty. It’s not like anyone in the house hasn’t seen his junk before. 

“Kent, perfect timing,” Tracy, his midwife, says cheerfully as they walk into the living room. 

The birthing pool is definitely set up and ready for him. 

“Let’s get you in there,’ she says. 

The whole point of having a home birth was so he didn’t have to choose who to keep in the delivery room with him. Jack and Jeff are already in their swim trunks. Jack looks less panicked and more stable, which is what Kent wanted from kicking him out of the house for a while. It’s a group effort lowering him into the glorified kiddie pool, since the contractions are getting closer together.  

“This kid is grounded the second they’re born,” he says after the contraction. “This is just fucking cruel.” 

“Well, let’s take a look down there and see how far along you are,” Tracy says. “You want someone in there with you?” 

“Yea,” he says. 

“Alrighty, who’s up?” she asks. 

Kent licks his lips. The answer’s simple, really. 

_/.\\_ 

“Alrighty, who’s up?” Tracy asks. 

“Bits,” Kent says. 

Bitty’s mouth falls open. He hadn’t expected Kent to say him. Sure, he’s already dressed for it, but so are the rest of the guys. Parker’s even had time to change. Why would Kent ask for him?

“You sure, baby?” Bitty asks. 

“Fuck, of course I am,” Kent says. “I need you. Please?” 

On the one hand, Bitty feels wholly under qualified to be there. But Kent believes in his ability to help. That’s all the confidence Bitty needs. 

The birthing pool is surprisingly warm. He situates himself behind Kent, who rests against him. He watches Kent spread his legs so Tracy can check how dilated he is. Kent grunts when she puts her hand in him. Bitty does his best to reassure him with compliments and kisses. 

“You’re doing amazing, baby,” he says. 

“Well it shouldn’t be too long now,” Tracy says. “Kent, you’re already at eight centimeters.” 

“He probably would’ve had the baby by himself if he could,” Parker says. 

“Don’t fucking tempt me,” Kent says. 

Parker does a good job of distracting Kent with chirps until his next contraction starts. Bitty can tell it’s gotten worse because of how tense Kent’s face gets. He buries his face in Bitty’s neck, whimpering as his stomach tightens. 

They do this for a while until Bitty’s pruny and Kent’s asking for Jeff. Bitty doesn’t feel unwanted by this. Really, he’s tired and relieved he gets a chance to be dry for a little. The four of them rotate in twenty minute increments for a while. The pool is refilled a few times as Kent gets further into labor. 

The sun starts to go down when Kent asks for help kneeling. Parker’s currently in there with him, helping him resituate. 

“Fuck, this feels weird,” Kent moans. 

“Well let’s check you out again,” Tracy says, reaching into the water to check him again. “Do you feel like pushing?” 

“Yea,” he says. 

“Ok don’t, not yet,” she says. “Just hum for me.” 

Kent hums, wincing when Tracy does something that Bitty can’t see. 

“Alright, Kent, the baby’s crowning. On the next contraction you can start pushing,” she says. 

“Want me to switch out?” Parker asks. 

Kent shakes his head. “Stay, please.” 

Parker nods. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Kent whines as he starts to push. 

“Keep going come on,” Tracy says. “I need you to push for ten seconds, come on. Ten... nine... eight…” 

Bitty doesn’t stop watching as he feels Jeff pull him closer to his side. There’s a better view from this angle. 

Kent puts his head on the edge of the pool when the contraction is over.

“No, I mean it,” Kent says, turning his head toward Parker. “Don’t leave. Just... fuck, stay. Or we’ll move to LA or... we’ll figure something out, alright?” 

“That’s what you’re focusing on right now? Are you fucking insane? We’re having a baby,” Parker says. 

“I know, that’s why I’m saying it,” Kent groans. “Fuck, wait a second.” 

Tracy coaches him through another contraction. 

“You just picked up and left,” Kent says when it’s over. 

“No I didn’t. We talked about it for months. You knew I was leaving. You fucking said—”

“I know what I said,” Kent snaps. “But I was wrong. I miss you all the fucking time. Is that what you wanna hear? I hate playing California teams because every fucking time we do it just reminds me that you’re not here. That you’re not—”

Kent groans, rubbing his stomach as he starts to push again. Parker helps him rock his hips back and forth. 

“Not what?” Parker asks when it’s over.

“Not mine,” Kent says. 

Parker leans over to kiss him on the lips. It’s forceful but tender. Bitty leans into Jeff’s side, knowing exactly what Parker means. 

“I am yours, idiot,” Parker says softly. “Jesus fuck, Kenny. How the fuck do you not know how much I love you?” 

Kent shrugs. “What can I say? I’m stubborn like that.” 

Parker kisses him again. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats. 

That visibly calms Kent, even as he starts pushing again. They watch him keep going for another ten minutes or so as the baby’s head makes minimal progress out of him. Bitty reaches over to clutch Kent’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Somehow in the flurry of activity, Jeff ends up in the pool with them while Jack holds Kent’s other hand. 

Bitty watches in rapture as he births the head. Kent doesn’t give up, despite how utterly exhausted he looks. Bitty kisses his forehead, wondering if most families feel this much nervous joy at getting a new member. 

When the baby’s shoulders finally come loose, and Tracy is slowly taking her—their  _ daughter _ —out of the water, Bitty thinks it’s impossible to love anyone this much. 

Tracy cleans her up, opening up her airways so she can wail. Tracy puts her back on Kent’s chest with a blanket on top of her to keep her warm. 

Bitty can barely see the tears in Kent’s eyes over the ones in his own. 

“Hey angel,” Kenny says as he traces a finger over her tiny head. “You’re the most perfect baby in existence, you know that?” 

“Fuck yea she is,” Jeff says as he kisses Kent’s head. 

“So are we gonna play ‘who’s the daddy’ or point out that her hair’s looking a little... red,” Parker says. 

Bitty frowns. “Oh,” he says. “I think those might be Bittle genes talking. My papa’s a redhead, after all.” 

Jeff nods. “Or... y’know Heather’s a redhead? My baby sister.” 

“Uh, my cousin Annette,” Jack points out. “And my aunt Cheryl.” 

Kent laughs. “So uh, agree that she’s just... our baby? Unless she needs, like, a kidney or something at some point?” 

They hum in agreement. Bitty can’t see her eyes or how big they are, so he can’t tell for sure, but... seeing Jeff coo at her makes his heart leap in a way he didn’t know was possible. It doesn’t matter whose she is, he thinks. They’re a family, he keeps telling himself. For better or worse, they’ve got each to care for and protect. 

The baby gets passed around one by one. When she gets to Bitty, he starts crying. 

“Hey there,” he says. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, sweetheart.” 

She turns into his chest. That’s when he realizes that this is all real. He’s a dad. 

“So what are we naming her?” Jeff asks. 

Kent shrugs. “I don’t know, honestly?” 

“What do you  _ want _ to name her,” Parker clarifies. 

“Uh, I was thinking Olivia,” Kent says. “Y’know, kinda classy, kinda quirky. Just like us?” 

Bitty hums, looking down at her. “What do you think Miss Olivia? Is that your name, darling?” 

He doesn’t know if babies can understand what are adults are saying (probably not), but she just looks... calmer when he asks. More at peace. 

“Here baby, lets give you back to Daddy,” Bitty says as he leans over to give her to Kent. 

“Uh, I was thinking I could be Renny, actually,” Kent says as he blushes. “Just... she already has enough dads y’know? And I’m like, a dude, but I just had a fucking baby and I don’t... feel all that binary? I guess. Does that make sense?” 

Bitty smiles. “Yea, baby, that makes perfect sense.” 

Kent blushes harder, grinning as Jack kisses him. 

They’re new at this. They’re brand new parents in a polycule with little to no practical experience in raising a kid. Bitty can feel the nervous thrum of excitement in the room—unbridled joy swirling with hesitancy. 

Tomorrow will be different, that’s for sure. Tomorrow they’ll be anxious and probably snappy with one another as they fumble with parenthood. They’re still juggling therapies, commitments, and personal struggles. It isn’t perfect, by a long shot, but it’s who they are. They’re a work in progress. Bitty couldn’t be more proud of that. 

Kent hands Olivia to Parker when he has to deliver the placenta. When he’s done, Bitty kisses him once more, and then three times after that for good measure. He watches Jack and Parker get Olivia dry and in a onesie as he and Jeff help Kent get out of the pool. Jeff carries Kent back to their bedroom. 

Bitty trails after them, giving Jack a kiss before stealing her back from him. She’s going to have a hard time keeping up with all the attention, he realizes. The sun’s setting in the distance as the close the curtains in the bedroom. Jack puts the TV on, finding  _ Miss Congeniality _ playing on one of the channels. It reminds Bitty of their first summer here, when they were just starting to build a life with these three. 

If heaven is real, it must be Vegas, Bitty thinks. He smiles as the four of them, now five, settle into bed. He’s half paying attention to the movie, wandering eyes more interested in his partners, his metamours, and his daughter. 

Bitty has no trouble falling asleep that night. He wonders how different his life would be without Kenny, and then thanks his lucky stars that he won’t have to find out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is going to be the world's longest a/n so bear with me:
> 
> chapter title - lyrics from Fire Escape by Foster the People 
> 
> You can listen to the playlist for this fic [on Spotify.](https://open.spotify.com/user/palateens/playlist/6Sy5EK1I6OFKriYEqwVWOu)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who's read, beta'd, squeed about, commented, and just plain old supported this fic! It took a lot longer to finish than I thought. But like life, this story had other plans. 
> 
> Finally, a quick dedication to my Bitty. I can't say that we know what we're doing, but I don't regret a second of it <3


End file.
